


The Corktown Killer

by altiae



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Time, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Hank Anderson Swears, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Connor is a jerk, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other tags to be added, POV Hank Anderson, Porn with Feelings, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altiae/pseuds/altiae
Summary: “Detroit PD!” Hank yelled.The garage was small; his flashlight lit almost the whole thing. Old tools hung from the walls and spiderwebs ran between the rafters. The slats of siding were rotting away, letting in leaks of light. In the corner, the beam shone on two figures, one collapsed into the other. One face turned up to look at him with his hands raised, his LED spinning red.“I’m unarmed,” said Connor.----Lieutenant Hank Anderson is working alone again after his partner, Connor, disappeared in the chaos of the android revolution. He's the lead detective in charge of finding the Corktown Killer, a murderer who is wreaking havoc on Detroit. He trudges to the most recent crime scene expecting the same nothing. No prints, no evidence, no clues. But one lead changes everything: thirium from an RK800 unit.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 54
Kudos: 172





	1. Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies. This fic is mostly canon-compliant with a few changes that should be clear in the narrative.
> 
> Strap in, folks, this is going to be quite the Halloween ride.

Hank’s eyes bored into his console. He was unfocused and unmotivated, per usual. 

“Anderson! If I don’t see you working, I swear to god I will fire you,” yelled Fowler from the landing outside his office.

Hank would normally have a sarcastic retort, but he couldn’t muster it now. Instead, he sunk deeper into his chair, idly picking up a pen and opening a random case file.

It wasn’t that Hank didn’t love being a cop; he did. His entire life had been spent on the force, and he lived for the work they did. But since the android revolution, he had been despondent. CyberLife had reinstated Kamski and he had been in the news constantly, explaining how the company would support the deviated androids. It would have been charitable to say Hank was skeptical of the company’s assurances.

And then, of course, there was Connor.

He had decided to save Hank’s life at CyberLife Tower, putting the entire revolution at risk. In the end, Hank had gotten a hold of the gun and shot the fake Connor, freeing Connor to deviate the thousands of androids around them.

Connor had then barked instructions at Hank, forcing him to take a back way out of the tower. He had reluctantly agreed, despite the worry deep in his stomach. The last time he had seen Connor he had been walking off with his android army. 

But the army arrived without him. 

When Hank had investigated, the androids said Connor had included instructions to the group when he deviated them, telling them to join Markus. Apparently, he never had any intention of joining them in the square. 

No one had seen him since.

Most of the time, Hank tried not to think about permutations of what could have happened to him. He focused on what was real. His work, Sumo, coffee, and other things that he could reach out and touch. It was too hard to reminisce about what he’d lost; Connor just being the most recent casualty.

“Lieutenant, we have another homicide. Looks like it’s him again,” Chris said, grabbing his coat from a few desks over.

Hank lifted his head with a few slow blinks. 

“Need me?” he asked.

Chris pulled his hat on and turned to Hank, dropping his shoulders, “It’s your case. Come on, Lieutenant.”

Hank unfurled from his chair and stretched, wincing at the pops he heard. He rubbed his face, looking up at Chris with a grimace, “You’re not my partner, you know.”

Chris grinned, crossing to Hank. “Just one of the many blessings in my life,” he said as he gave a good-natured shrug.

Hank rolled his eyes, “Who taught you to joke?”

“Who said it was a joke?” Chris asked as he flipped open his phone to recall the address, already walking out of the building.

Hank sighed heavily before dragging himself into a coat and following Chris to the car.

“Want to go over the case?” Chris asked in a tentative voice. Hank’s normally foul mood had descended into that of a poorly trained ogre, and Chris was smart enough to tread carefully.

Hank nodded before he leaned back in the autonomous vehicle, stretching back. He usually liked to drive himself to crime scenes, but he was feeling just lazy enough to let Chris take the lead on this.

“So, this is the fourth homicide of this nature that we’ve seen. In the three previous murders there were no fingerprints on the weapon and the writing near the victim that led us to believe it was an android.”

“But no proof of that through blue blood or anything else that could tie it to a specific model, right?”

“Right,” Chris agreed. “But already this one seems different—the first cop on scene reported lots of blue blood.”

“Great,” Hank said flatly out the window.

The murders had been gruesome. The victims had all lived alone and had no connection that they had found yet. Each murder had shared one aspect they hadn’t reported to the media, that each had been reported by an anonymous call. This had left the DPD to suspect it was one killer who had done it. Since the first body had been found in Corktown, it led the press to the perfect name to the perfect name: the Corktown Killer.

“This is it,” Chris said as the autonomous vehicle slid to a stop. “Nice place,” he said with a hint of surprise.

Chris wasn’t wrong. The previous crime scenes had all been little more than rundown shacks, garbage piling up on the porches, and sunken rooves. This house was an adorable bungalow with a well-manicured front lawn and a low fence.

“Not exactly the typical location, huh?” Hank remarked.

“Nope,” Chris said, making a few notes on his pad and swinging the front gate open.

The two climbed the stairs to the house and the front door which was swung ajar. Hank pointed to a small picture frame hung in the foyer. “Live, Laugh, Love?” 

Chris shrugged, “We all have to have a mantra, I guess.”

Hank rolled his eyes and walked past Chris, “I think ‘have to’ is a stretch.”

“Lieutenant, I’m glad you’re here,” the CSI tech crouched on the floor, hunched over yellow evidence marker.

“Whoa—it looks like an android fucking exploded in here,” Hank said, his eyes sweeping over the spots of blue blood covering the well-appointed living room. “This must be recent—we can still see it.”

The CSI tech stood up and crossed to Hank, “It was a bloodbath. Or a thirium bath, rather,” the tech said as he elbowed Hank in the ribs. 

Hanks ice blue eyes dropped to the tech’s arm before resting on his face with a dark expression. 

The tech coughed.

“Tell me what I need to know,” Hank said, ensuring the subtext would be clear.

“Male, 32, cause of death seems to be asphyxiation, but we’ll only know after an autopsy,” the tech recited from his notes.

Hank and Chris shared a glance with the same question: autopsy of what? The body was in pieces, scattered around the floor. And while thirium covered the room, there was a shockingly little amount of human blood on the scene.

“Why is there no—” Hank started.

“Human blood? Yeah, it seems he was, umm, drained before he was dismembered.”

“Drained?” Chris asked, looking a little ashen.

“Drained,” the tech confirmed. 

“So, it’s just the dismembering that makes you think it’s the Corktown Killer?” Hank asked.

The tech gave a hesitant glance to the basement door and winced. “Not only that.”

As the three of them made their way down, Hank could honestly not believe how much blood there was. Thirium was everywhere spattering the floors and walls. 

“Jesus, this is a lot of blue blood,” Hank said, careful to avoid the handrail on the way down. “How much blood is in an android anyway?”

“Not sure exactly, but I would guess this is about one gallon? The spatter probably accounts for at least most of one android.”

Hank considered, “So either this was one hell of a fight, or something weirder.”

“I vote something weirder,” Chris added, landing at the bottom of the stairs.

What they saw was straight out of one of Hank’s gorier video games. 

A heavy hook dangled from the rafters over a metal grate below. The cement floor was dark and rough, dust balls clinging to the snags in the finish. A rough-hewn workbench lined one wall, deep gouges along the edge. A few fluorescent lights lit the space, but it was a grim, dreary light that cast shadows across the basement. The walls were covered in smudges, almost looking like they were woven.

In short, it was a nightmare.

“Yikes,” Hank said, surveying the scene in front of him.

“It’s gonna take a while for me to not think about this when I go to sleep,” Chris said.

“If you look closely, you’ll see the writing…” the tech led them towards the wall behind the workbench, pointing out some dark smudges on the wall. Chris lifted his flashlight to get a better view of it.

RA9 IS A LIE was scrawled repeatedly on the walls, small enough that it almost looked like an organic pattern. Hank put two fingers on the flashlight and pushed it a few inches over, lighting more of the walls.

“The entire place?” Hank asked, scanning the walls of the basement.

The tech grunted in reply. 

“Anything on the first floor?” Hank asked.

“No, it seems the writing is just here. But we still have more to search.”

“And no one was here when you searched the house?” Hank questioned, realizing that he should have asked that first thing. Man, he was really off his game.  
“No heat signatures and the guys upstairs did a sweep,” the tech said, gesturing to the other cops who had arrived before him.

Hank gave a slow nod. Everything pointed to this being another or the same android, but it just didn’t feel right. All the murders perpetrated by androids so far had been in self-defense, even if they had been gruesome. The idea of an android going house to house just to drain and dismember people just didn’t add up for Hank. Something about it seemed simply too human.

He scowled to himself. Humans are the worst. 

Chris and Hank spent another hour searching the house, not finding anything of note. Hank checked his watch before finding the tech one more time.

“So, when will we get the results from the lab?”

The tech lifted what looked like a part of a forearm and slipped it into a bag. He held the bag somewhat away from him.

“Not sure. There’s a lot to go through here.”

“Can you give me a rough estimate?” Hank asked, biting the words.

The tech gave him a pointed look, holding aloft the bag with the severed arm. “Are you offering to help?”

Hank rolled his eyes, “Jesus, no need to get bitchy.”

Chris rested a hand on Hank’s shoulder, pushing him to the door. He called back, “Thanks! We’ll check in tomorrow!”

Hank shrugged off Chris’ hand when they got outside.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” he spat.

“Are you sure?” Chris’ tone was different than before. His lighthearted air had dissipated, and instead, he was baring his teeth.

Hank sighed. If he had pissed off Chris, the nicest guy in the DPD, he really was fucking up.

Chris squared himself to Hank next to the car. “I know it’s been rough since you lost Connor, but you gotta be a bit less of an asshole to the people around you. We all expect you to be unpleasant, but you’re downright dickish now.”

Hank rubbed his forehead. He knew Chris was right. 

Hank was never one to bounce back quickly. But everything at the DPD reminded him of Connor. The empty desk in front of him, his archive key, even when he took his lunches alone at Chicken Feed. 

At home, the still-broken window had a few layers of cardboard slapped over it. He hadn’t been able to fix it yet, still remembering Connor’s lithe body tumble through it to save him. 

“I’m sorry, man. You’re right,” Hank admitted, dropping his shoulders and moving his hand to the back of his neck. He needed to get his shit together.

“Hey, why don’t you head home when we get back. I’ll wait for the lab results,” Hank offered.

Chris furrowed his brow at Hank, “But I’m on duty tonight.”

Hank’s steely eyes softened as he opened the car door, inviting Chris in first. “Yeah, but you’re right. I want to make it up to you for being a jerk,” Hank said as he slid in behind Chris.

Chris’ eyes widened in surprise. He considered before nodding and thanking Hank.

When they got back to the precinct, Hank clapped Chris on the shoulder.

“See you tomorrow?” Hank said.

Chris gave a wide smile, eagerly gathering the keys from his desk. “Absolutely. I’m gonna join some guys for a drink and then head home early.” He looked up at Hank with a cutting grin, “Or not,” he added, waggling his eyebrows crudely. 

Hank chuckled and shooed him out of the station before heading back to his desk.

He missed feeling like that. Carefree and hopeful were never emotions Hank had in spades, never like Chris. Hank dropped into his chair and opened the file for today’s murder, spending a few hours entering in Chris’ notes.

At 10 pm, he rubbed his eyes. He could probably leave soon; Chris’ shift ended at 9 anyway. But Fowler’s and Chris’ comments banged around in his head. So, he got another cup of coffee and settled into his desk, arranging the Corktown Killer files in chronological order. Opening them one by one, he tried to find similarities. 

All male. 

All dismembered.

No fingerprints.

All had parts missing, but with no overlaps. Organs, necks, thighs, it was all over the map. Sometimes it was just specific muscles, sometimes it was nerves. One man was missing his penis, but not his testicles. Unfortunately, that particular factoid had been released to the press, leading to one rag reporting “Corktown Killer on the Quest for Cocks,” which was…not ideal.

However, this murder was a bit different. The others were messy affairs with blood everywhere, while this victim had been drained before being cut apart. That, and the massive amount of android blood, were quite divergent. It was also the best lead they had gotten thus far.

It would be damn hard to find an android who was hunting and killing people. But with the blue blood signature, they could at least find a model type and then would know what face they were looking for. It was, as of right now, their best shot.

Just then Hank’s phone rang.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Hank replied, picking up his phone from his desk. 

“Hey Hank, I’ve got the results from the newest Corktown crime scene,” Julie, the woman from the lab drawled, obviously stifling a yawn.

“We don’t know if it’s another Corktown yet,” Hank said.

“Whatever, you know what I mean,” she didn’t have the energy to battle Hank. “Anyway, the parts missing from this obviously-not-Corktown victim were both kidneys, about half the teeth, and his humerus.”

Hank flipped through the other files, “Those weren’t missing from any of the others, right?”

“Right,” Julie confirmed. 

Hank grunted in reply.

“Also, we got the thirium results. I’ve got good news and bad news. What do you want first?”

Hank shrugged to himself and leaned back in the chair, his eyes tracing the ceiling tiles, “Surprise me.”

“Okay, well the WR600 made up the majority of the blood on the scene—” Julie started.

“WR600. The gardening model?” Hank asked.

“Yes. The city of Detroit bought thousands of them for park and tree maintenance a few years ago,” she confirmed.

“Fuck,” said Hank, dipping his forehead into the heel of his hand. “That’s worse than a needle in a haystack.”

“Like a needle in a haystack of needles,” Julie agreed. “But that’s the bad news. The good news is that there were trace amounts of another type.”

Hank's ears perked up.

“RK800.”

Hank’s stomach dropped.

“Remember? That’s the investigative model CyberLife came out with right before the revolution. There must be only a handful of those, if that,” Julie said excitedly.

Hank blinked.

“Hank?” Julie asked.

“Yeah, great. Thanks. Send me the info,” Hank’s empty voice replied. He heard Julie’s voice fade as he lowered the phone to the desk and ended the call.

Hank’s thoughts ran in a small circle. 

Connor could be involved in a series of murders.

But he could be alive.

It’s probably not Connor.

But it could be.

Hank’s mouth ran dry. He took a sip of the acrid coffee. He blinked, realizing he was wide awake. He dropped the remnants of the coffee in the trash can.

He needed to find this RK800, find out if it was his Connor.

Opening the files, he went back to work.


	2. I'm Not Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After getting the results from the lab, Hank knows there's only one person they need to talk to: Elijah Kamski.

“Hank?” Hank heard a soft voice question and felt a gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Brrr—what?” Hank grumbled, pulling himself upright in his chair. He squinted as his neck tweaked, stiffening his back. He made a mental note to take ibuprofen as soon as possible.

“Did you stay here all night? You knew my shift ended at 9, right?” Chris asked, crouching next to Hank’s chair.

“Yeah—I mean, yeah,” Hank stuttered, still groggy. 

“Any leads on the case?”

Hank felt his body deflate as the memory from last night flooded his brain. 

For a moment, Hank considered lying to Chris. He thought about pursuing this lead all on his own, going lone wolf. But looking down at Chris, squatting on the floor by Hank, he knew he couldn’t do it. Even though he hated it, he was going to have to ask for help.

“Yeah, actually. A big one.”

Chris’ eyebrows drew down and he cocked his head. 

“That’s good news, right? What’s wrong?”

Hank took a breath as his eyes drifted to the empty desk across from him. He imagined Connor sitting there, a vacantly hopeful look on his face as he asked Hank was his dog’s name was. 

Hank pursed his lips. Now was not the time. 

“Take a seat,” Hank said, motioning to Connor’s desk and hefting himself to upright and rubbing his face. He frowned, “God, my breath smells awful. Can you give me a few minutes?”

Chris laughed, getting up and crossing to his desk before he turned on the console. “Sure, Lieutenant. I’ll be here.”

Hank gave a half-smile and took the toothbrush and toothpaste from his desk. Earlier in his career, he had done many late nights, needing these often. But lately, it had been no secret that he had been phoning it in. Even before Connor, he had been lackadaisical at best about his work. Losing Connor had just affirmed the decision.

Hank braced himself on a sink in the men’s bathroom. He straightened his back, doing a few twists to get the blood flowing. He was idly brushing his teeth when the door opened.

“Walk of shame, Anderson?” Gavin asked.

Hank did his best version of an eye roll with a mouth full of toothpaste. The effect would have been better if he hadn’t drooled.

“I mean, you’re wearing the same clothes as last night and I know you’re not working late, so the only solution left is that you fooled someone to fuck you,” Gavin said as he slithered across the bathroom. “Or maybe paid someone?”

Hank took the toothbrush out of his mouth, considering the ways he could murder Gavin in this bathroom and get away with it.

Hank spit, leaving some toothpaste residue layering his teeth.

“Nah, Gavin, that’s not my scene. Though I imagine you’d have some good recommendations,” Hank offered, wiping his mouth. 

Gavin smirked at Hank before taking a wide stance at one of the urinals.

Hank smiled, feeling like that was the boost he needed for his morning, getting the final word with Reed. But as he grabbed the door, Gavin’s voice cut back into him.  
“Oh hey, I hear your boyfriend is a suspect in a murder. Too bad the tin can went postal, right?”

Hank’s palm froze on the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Seeing red, it was becoming less and less important for him to get away with Gavin’s murder. He took a breath and kept pushing the door, leaving the bathroom as he attempted to calibrate his own emotions. He was marginally successful.

Hank walked to his desk, dropping his toothpaste and toothbrush in the drawer before slamming it shut.

How did Gavin know? They needed to find Connor before someone like Gavin did. He needed help from Chris to figure this out.

At the sound of the drawer slamming, Chris’ head snapped up. “Lieutenant?” he asked, the hesitation clear in his voice.

Hank swiveled his chair and sat down, opening another drawer to take out a handful of ibuprofen pills and dry swallowing them. “We got the results from the lab last night,” 

Chris leaned forward while Hank told him about the news from the lab.

“Holy shit. So, do they think it’s Connor?” Chris asked, his concern obvious.

Hank shrugged, “No way to tell. I know I destroyed one other, so there could be more. We really don’t know.”

“Who would know?”

Hank leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Elijah Kamski.”

“He seems like such a sleazeball,” Chris said, turning up his nose.

Hank nodded, “He’s worse than that. But he’s probably our only shot at finding out how many RK800s there are out there.”

Chris sighed, “Want to take a squad car?”

The corner of Hank’s mouth turned up a bit at the thought of driving his shitty beater sedan to CyberLife. He grinned.

“I’ll drive.”

They discussed their strategy on the drive over. Since Kamski knew Hank, he wouldn’t have as much leeway with him. Chris was better to take the lead, someone Kamski didn’t know. 

The CyberLife Tower dominated the skyline. Hank shivered, remembering the claustrophobic feeling of being tied up and stuffed into a trunk by fake Connor. He had never wanted to come back here.

They got through security no problem, the guards saying they would alert Kamski to their arrival. Hank pulled his car to a screeching halt in a no parking zone, flashing his badge to the parking attendant android, who tipped his chin to them as they walked in. 

CyberLife’s lobby more of an optical illusion than a corporate office. Chris’ eyes were glued to the steep slopes of the ceiling as they maneuvered around the ergonomic furniture. Arriving at the front desk, Hank showed his badge.

“Detroit PD here to see Elijah Kamski. He should be expecting us.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. Take the elevator to the 78th floor,” a beautiful blond android crooned to them, her eyes fluttering as she connected to some database. 

Hank gave an off-kilter smile. “Creepy,” he muttered to Chris.

“I don’t know, she’s kind of cute,” he said, glancing back at her. 

Hank shook his head and they got into the elevator which quickly soared to the 78th floor. 

“She looks plastic,” Hank said flatly.

“And Connor didn’t? That guy looked like a fucking wet dream,” Chris said out of the side of his mouth.

Hank shot him a look that ended the conversation.

The elevator dinged and the doors swung open, revealing a massive room lined with glass that overlooked the city. It was empty except for one desk backed up against the windows. Hank turned around, noticing the elevator sprung up in the middle of the room like a parking garage. The entire floor was lined with windows.

A little disoriented, the two cops made their way to the desk, where Kamski was sitting in a high-backed black leather chair. 

“Welcome, gentlemen. I’m so sorry you had to come the whole way here. I would have gladly come to the precinct,” the words slid out of Kamski’s mouth as he stood and opened his arms to the two cops. 

Kamski looked just as he always did, his black hair tied up with the bottom of his scalp buzzed close to his skin. His expression was hard and saccharine.

“Kamski,” Hank said.

“Chris Miller, DPD,” Chris said, introducing himself.

Kamski gave a tight, off-center smile to Hank as he nodded to him and then shook Chris’ outstretched hand. “What can I do for you?”

“We have reason to believe that an RK800 unit may be involved in a recent crime, and we need to know how many you produced,” Chris asked, matter-of-fact. 

Hank hated this building. He hated this weird office. But more than that, he hated the growing grin on Kamski’s face.

“RK800, you say?” Kamski’s eyes coasted to Hank’s. “The Connor unit?”

Hank wanted to rip Connor’s name right out of this asshole’s mouth.

“From what I remember you two became quite close, toward the end,” Kamski said, turning to his console. “For obvious reasons, that unit was discontinued after the revolution, so I don’t believe there were many.”

His fingers tapped on the keyboard as he searched the records. Chris and Hank stood calmly waiting. Well, Chris did. Hank seethed. 

“A totally of twenty were made. Fifteen were never activated and decommissioned during the revolution. Two were sent to police departments on the west coast and continued working there. One was kept here in our research library. One was sent to the DPD, that was your Connor unit, and one was,” his eyes flicked to Hank’s for just a moment, “shot in our facility.”

Chris jumped in, “Could we get a printout of that?”

Kamski laughed, “A printout. Classic.” He hit a few buttons before his eyes unfocused on the keyboard. He looked genuinely forlorn. “Such a shame. He was the most advanced model CyberLife had ever created before the revolution. What a waste,” Kamski said, shaking his head.

He turned back to the cops, “You can pick that up at the desk downstairs on your way out.”

“Do you have any way to locate these units?” Hank asked through his teeth.

Kamski folded his hands in front of him. “As you know, once the androids deviate, we lose the connection to their GPS coordinates. You’ll just have to track your Connor the old-fashioned way, I suppose.” The smirk Kamski gave wore on Hank’s patience and he was ready to get out of there.

“Any other questions, Chris?” He said, obviously agitated.

“I think that will be all for now,” Chris said, flipping his notepad closed. “But we may come back with more questions, Mr. Kamski.”

“Of course. The DPD has always been a friend to CyberLife,” Kamski said, winking at Hank. 

Mother fucking prick mother fucker was all Hank would have said if he had opened his mouth, so he kept it shut and simply nodded, turning back to the elevator. 

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lieutenant Anderson,” Kamski called from behind them. Hank did not reply.

They rode down in silence, eyeing the cameras in the corner of the elevator. Chris swung by the front desk to pick up the printout and they made their way through the cavernous lobby.

Once they got back in Hank’s car, Chris couldn’t help himself.

“My GOD what a douche,” he exhaled, leaning forward for emphasis.

Hank sputtered in laughter, a welcome tension release.

“RK800, you say?” Chris said, mocking Kamski’s affected voice.

Hank bent over the steering wheel cackling, his forehead on his hands. He couldn’t help himself—Chris’ impression of the CyberLife CEO was too good.

Chris laughed with him as they drove out, imitating specific phrases as they circled the company’s lot to find an exit.

Hank wiped his eyes as they got through the security gate, finally getting a hold of his breath.

“My god, that was good. I needed that,” he said, signaling to turn onto the main road.

Chris grinned at Hank and winked, pointing at his eye. “And what was THIS shit?”

Hank shook his head, “That guy’s just a prick. When Connor and I questioned him, he played these mind games on Connor. He obviously got off on it.” His upper lip curled, “It was gross.”

Chris nodded, “He seems pretty gross, to be fair.”

The conversation lulled for a moment as Chris looked over the paperwork. “This isn’t going to be very useful, huh?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Hank agreed.

“So how are we going to find him?”

Hank squinted at the road in front of him. How was he going to find Connor, whether it was his Connor or another one? He thought back to his cases.

“How good are the cops who first got to the scene?” Hank asked.

Chris put his hands in his jacket pockets, “I don’t know, pretty good?”

Hank bit his cheek. “Something’s been bothering me about this android serial killer. Every other android whose murdered someone has done it in self-defense or protecting someone else. An android killing people at random just doesn’t add up.”

Chris tilted his head back and forth.

Hank continued, “And with this recent murder, with all that thirium, it makes me think that maybe we missed something.

Chris pursed his lips, cocking his head at Hank.

“I think we should go back to the crime scene.”

“Let’s do it,” Chris said, taking out his phone to let the DPD know where they were headed.

The house was still covered in crime scene tape. As they climbed to the front porch, Hank turned around and scanned the neighborhood. The houses were all well-appointed and in good shape. Nothing stood out to him.

“You know, every android we found who had murdered someone didn’t go far. They stayed close.”

“You’re thinking he could still be here?”

Hank chewed his cheek, “Not sure. Let’s look out back.”

The two cops walked through the house, the blue blood having faded away by that point. 

“This place isn’t half bad without all the severed body parts,” Chris surmised.

Hank chuckled as he opened the back door, surveying the yard. Over the back fence, he saw the slanted roof of a beige garage. It didn’t look structurally sound.

“What does that look like to you, Chris?” Hank asked, pointing to the roof.

“Neighbor’s garage maybe? Workshop?”

Hank squinted, walking towards it. His eyes traced the top of the fence, made of vertical slats about 6 feet high. Definitely a challenge for a human to clear. But an android? He’d seen Connor do a whole lot more.

“Stay here, I’m going to go around,” Hank said, returning to the street through the side yard and walking down the block. As he rounded the corner, the neighborhood took a bit of a turn and wasn’t nearly as manicured as one street over. Typical Detroit, Hank thought.

He walked to what he thought was the house right behind the victim’s. The paint was a similar color to the grayish beige of the garage and the house’s facade looked grim.

Peering around the side, he didn’t see a car in the driveway. He went to the front window and cupped his hands around his face.

The house sure looked vacant.

He padded to the edge of the yard and opened the chain link gate. The windowless garage was in worse shape than the house. It leaned a little to the left and looked generally unstable. The roof was covered in moss and leaves, the rafters clearly visible through the thin shingles. Hank paused, spotting a broken lock lying in the grass by the door. He pulled out his gun and a flashlight.

He quickly sidled up the garage, his back against the wall. He made his way to the door and tried to peer around the corner. The door was just slightly ajar and he could see some wilted grass blades on the rotted wood floor. 

Taking a breath, he swung himself to the door and threw it open.

“Detroit PD!” he yelled.

The garage was small; his flashlight lit almost the whole thing. Old tools hung from the walls and spiderwebs ran between the rafters. The slats of siding were rotting away, letting in leaks of light.

In the corner, his light shone on two figures, one collapsed into the other. One face turned up to look at him with his hands raised, his LED spinning red.

“I’m unarmed,” said Connor.


	3. Waiting for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank brings Connor back to the DPD.

Hank froze, his hands outstretched holding his gun and flashlight. Connor’s body was folded into the corner of the garage with his palms facing Hank. The WR600, the gardening android, lay limp with his back against Connor’s chest.

“I’m unarmed,” Connor repeated.

Hank swallowed. 

“Stand up and put your hands on the wall,” Hank croaked. The beam from his flashlight quivered.

Connor dropped his chin and slid his hands under the android’s armpits, placing him gently on the ground. He paused for a moment to look at the android’s face and Hank saw a flash of emotion, but he couldn’t make it out. Connor pushed his hands on his knees to stand up and turned around, putting his hands on the wall.

He moved just like Connor did. Obviously he did. 

Hank cocked his head and yelled to Chris, “Chris, get over here. Fourth house down the block.”

“Got it, Lieutenant.”

Hank could have sworn he saw Connor’s head tilt a fraction of an inch.

“I’m going to cuff you, okay?” Hank murmured, taking a few steps towards Connor. 

Once behind him, Hank reached up to take Connor’s hands, guiding them down to behind his lower back. Connor wore a version of his CyberLife uniform, but this one was covered in dirt and debris. It was also probably covered in invisible thirium.

Hank fixed the handcuffs on him, noticing one of the freckles on his wrist. He tugged gently on the cuffs, guiding Connor out just as Chris was rounding the corner of the vacant house.

“Christ,” he panted when he saw Connor. He had run the whole way around the block.

Hank gave a sharp nod, unable to vocalize anything quite yet. Chris met them in the yard, standing on Connor’s opposite side.

The two cops started walking, but the android wouldn’t budge.

“What’s going to happen to him?” he asked.

Hank had, thus far, avoided looking at Connor’s face as much as possible. But the question pulled at him, forcing him to make eye contact.

Connor’s posture was rigid, just like always. His hair was combed back though more strands than usual had come loose, falling to his forehead. Connor’s eyes were the same chocolate brown, but flatter somehow. Hank didn’t know if this was his Connor; he had been fooled by those scientists at CyberLife before. But damn if it wasn’t tempting to think it was.

Chris shot a glance at Hank before responding, “We’ll take care of it. First, we need to bring you back to the station.”

Connor’s eyes unfocused and his face turned to the ground. His feet followed the path Chris set for him as they made their way back to Hank’s car. It was the most like a machine Hank had ever seen him.

Hank followed closely behind, his gun still drawn. He had never seen Connor look more like a machine.

The evidence thus far was not in Connor’s favor. Having been found at the scene of a murder with a dead android wasn’t going to play well at the precinct. Fowler had _just_ been warming up to Connor before he disappeared, and this was going to make things extremely complicated.

Hank pulled out his keys to get in the car when Chris stopped him.

“Shouldn’t we wait for a patrol vehicle?” he asked, gesturing to Hank’s car.

Procedure dictated that they should always wait for an autonomous vehicle to transport arrestees. It was for everyone’s safety, but mostly the cops’. But Hank scanned Connor’s face, despondent and drawn. For better or for worse, he wasn’t worried about Connor attacking them.

There was also the fact that he didn’t want to include anyone else in this case until Connor was safe in an interrogation room. Too many androids were roughed up when the cops thought no one was watching.

“No, let’s get him back for questioning ASAP,” Hank threw the keys at Chris and crossed to his side, opening the door for Connor. 

“You want me to drive?” Chris asked, peering through the window of the old manual vehicle.

“You know how?” Hank asked, almost teasing.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Chris said, sliding into the front seat.

When Hank looked back at Connor, his eyebrows were drawn together. 

“You want to get in?” Hank asked.

Connor gave a curt nod and slipped into the car. Hank crossed to the other side and got in, resting his gun on his lap as they drove.

The car was silent, which was terrible for Hank’s thoughts. He kept stealing glances at Connor, still not believing they had found him. Every time, Connor was looking straight ahead with an impassive expression. Hank didn’t see him move once during the ride.

When they arrived, Hank opened the door for Connor who lifted himself out of the car and proceeded into the office, seeming like he knew where he was going. Chris and Hank exchanged glances before catching up with him, Chris grabbing one of his arms.

Hank felt a pang in his belly at that, but kept it to himself as they walked through the lobby and through the security doors.

As the cops, one by one, noticed Connor, the normal din of the DPD bullpen simmered to a lull. Eyes followed the android and Connor’s head turned back and forth; Hank was sure he was scanning faces. 

“Put him in interrogation room 1,” Hank said to Chris as he veered towards Fowler’s office. Chris nodded in reply as he and Connor made their way to the back of the precinct.

“We need to talk,” Hank said, almost slamming the door behind him. Fowler was surrounded by papers, some of which were threatening to push his awards off his desk. He held the pen aloft, studying a file in front of him. 

“What do you want?” Fowler asked.

“We just brought a suspect in from the Corktown case,” Hank said, stopping in front of Fowler. His fingers drummed the desk.

“Well that’s good news,” the captain replied, lifting his head from the paperwork. When he saw Hank’s face, he added, “Isn’t it?”

“The suspect is an RK800,” Hank replied.

Fowler’s eyes opened in surprise. “Is it…?” question didn’t need to be finished.

“I don’t know,” Hank said, slipping his hands into his pockets. It was what he spent the entire car ride over worrying about. He didn’t know which answer he wanted—both options were bad.

“Is he here?”

Hank nodded, “Chris took him to interrogation room one,” Hank confirmed, jutting his head to the side.

“Okay, we’ll have Reed question him first,” Fowler said, picking up the phone to dial the detective.

“Fuck that. I’m doing the interrogation,” Hank’s voice solid as a rock.

Fowler blinked at him. “You know I would never allow that.” 

“It’s my fucking case!” Hank exploded, his hands flying up and landing on Fowler’s desk.

“I don’t care if it’s your case. You’re too emotional about this and we need this case to be by the book,” Fowler jammed a pointed finger into his desk. “You got that?”  
“I’m not emotional,” Hank scoffed.

The captain stood up, his eyes level with Hank’s. His tone softened. “Hank, this kid was your partner. You two…got close. I’m sorry, I can’t let you question him.”

Hank gave a sardonic chuckle, kicking his head back. “Good luck with any other cop, including Reed. They don’t know shit about androids.”

Fowler stepped out from behind his desk, “You can watch the interrogations if you want. That’s the best I can do.”

Hank rolled his eyes and grimaced as if there was a bad smell, “Fine. Good fucking luck to them.”

Fowler and he split off before Hank skulked to the viewing room. He dropped into the chair and rested his elbow on his knee, studying the android. 

Connor sat with a perfectly vertical spine. His hands were cuffed to a metal bar on the table and neatly folded in front of him. Everything was exactly the fucking same. That’s manufacturing, right? They’re all made to be perfect carbon copies. He wondered if there was a way to definitively tell if this was his Connor.

His Connor.

Hank dropped his head, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. This was fucking ridiculous. 

First of all, Connor was never his. Hank needed to stop thinking that. 

Second of all, Connor hadn’t had a single moment of recognition when he saw him in that garage. His brown eyes were blank when he saw Hank; he probably needed to scan him to even know who he was. Even if it was the same android, if his memory was wiped, what did it even matter? 

Whatever he and Connor had, whatever it was becoming, was gone. Hank needed to accept that. Connor was never coming back.

Hank’s head snapped up at the sound of the interrogation room door.

Gavin Reed sauntered towards Connor as Fowler joined Hank in the viewing room. Connor’s expression remained blank, with his eyes straight ahead. Gavin picked up the light aluminum chair and spun it around, resting his elbows on the back as he sat down. The ever-present smirk on Gavin’s face was asymmetrical and annoying.

“I’m going to lie, Connor, I didn’t think you had the stones to murder anyone,” Gavin said, running one hand through his hair.

“I mean it; I’m impressed. The whole time you were at the DPD you didn’t shoot anyone, even when one of the Eden Club bitches pointed a gun right at you. Hell, you even quit a chase to save Anderson’s ass. And now you’ve killed four humans AND an android? Not a bad run for a piece of plastic.”

Connor’s expression was like stone. Unblinking, he stared right through Gavin to the metal wall behind him. 

Hank noticed Gavin’s sneer flag just for a moment.

“But it doesn’t matter what I think,” Gavin said, pushing himself away from the back of the chair. “Now that you have all the rights as humans, we can just put you on trial. And for something this bad,” Gavin sucked air in through his teeth, “We’re probably looking at you getting shut down.”

Gavin rose to his feet, pushing the chair to the side.

“Does that scare you, tin can? Dying? Or are you just a fucking toaster?” Gavin spat, leaning close to Connor.

Connor didn’t look scared. He didn’t look stressed. He looked like a wax figure, perfectly still.

One of Gavin’s hands slammed down next to Connor. And fuck if that android didn’t move an inch. He didn’t even blink.

Hank smiled into his hand. This may not have been his Connor, but he was at least a little in love with whomever this android was.

Gavin came at Connor like that for another fifteen minutes, trying to goad him into a response. But Connor stayed deathly still. Eventually, the red-faced Gavin gave up, storming out of the room. 

Hank glanced at Fowler, who held up a hand, “Don’t even start,” the captain said before leaving the room.

Fowler was eager to keep Hank out of that room. He sent in detective after detective, even sending Chris in to have a run at the RK800. But each one was greeted by silence and shunned by the android. After hours of questioning, they hadn’t gotten as much as a blink out of him.

It was getting late and even the dedicated detectives were ready to go home. Fowler folded himself into the chair opposite Hank in the viewing room, squinting at Hank. 

“I still don’t want you to question him,” Jeff said.

Hank nodded.

“It would be a terrible idea and I wouldn’t condone it.”

Hank blinked, his eyebrows dropping.

“Anything that happens will be picked up by cameras anyway.”

Hank turned to Fowler.

“But I’m going home now,” he said, glancing at Connor through the glass. “Good luck, Anderson.”

With that, Fowler slapped his thighs and stood up, leaving the room. Hank pursed his lips as his eyebrows drew together. There was a reason why Fowler made captain while Hank was just a lieutenant, and it was because Hank was more likely to do shit like this. 

He rubbed his chin, thinking it would take him about half an hour to get all the supplies he needed. Most of the precinct should be gone by then. He stood up and took his car keys out of his pocket before heading to the parking lot.

On his way back into the office, Fowler tipped his chin as he walked by Hank in the lobby. Hank dropped his coat on his desk, clutching a paper bag in his fist.

The cop outside the interrogation room door looked tired. She rubbed her eyes as she gave Hank a wan smile. Hank checked the viewing room and found it empty. He locked it, just in case.

Coming out, the cop gave a quick nod, “Lieutenant,” she said.

“I’m going to question the suspect. You can take a break if you want.”

Her eyes shifted back and forth for a moment, not sure how to contend with orders from a superior officer that contradicted her duties. But her fingers twitched in a way that led Hank to believe she needed a cigarette. 

“Five minutes?” she asked.

Hank smiled, clapping her on the shoulder, “Of course, rookie.”

She gave him a grateful smile before hurrying to her desk. Hank took a breath and looked to the door. Punching in the code, he walked in.

Hank paused just inside the door, his shoulders uneven. The bag in his hand crinkled a bit. Connor’s face was impassive as ever, but his eyes flinched at the sound.

Hank stepped to the table and dropped down in the chair, setting the Chicken Feed bag on the table. He took out the sandwich, the drink, and some napkins, crumpling the bag into a ball and moving it aside. Taking a sip of the Pineapple Passion drink, he carefully unwrapped his sandwich halfway. He bit into it and chewed slowly, looking around the room. 

The pair sat opposite each other, Connor with his hands handcuffed and folded and Hank clasping his greasy sandwich. Hank took a few more bites, taking his time with his meal. 

Eventually, Hank’s gaze drifted to Connor’s face, surprised when their eyes met. Hank raised his eyebrows, chewing.

“Your meal contains 1.4 times the recommended daily intake of calories and twice the cholesterol level. You shouldn’t eat that,” Connor said flatly.

Hank swallowed, unable to restrain the smile creeping up his face.

“Everybody’s gotta die of something,” Hank said, taking another bite.

Connor’s eyes darkened as his gaze dropped to his hands on the metal table. Hank’s smile dissolved.

He finished off the sandwich, wiping his mouth with one of the napkins. He flattened the bag and stuffed the trash into it before setting it back on the corner of the table. Hank saw Connor blink, his eyes drawn.

He took out the handcuff keys and undid Connor’s hands. For the first time, Connor looked confused.

“What are you doing, Lieutenant?”

“I guess I trust you,” Hank said, pocketing the cuffs. Connor rubbed his wrists in a too-human way. Hank assumed that even to his synthetic nerve endings, spending hours cuffed to a table wasn’t comfortable. 

“That doesn’t make sense, Lieutenant. I’m the prime suspect in a serial murder case,” Connor explained, rolling his wrists.

“Did you do it?” Hank asked plainly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He was taking a big chance, but he knew that if he were wrong, the blame would only be on him and no one else. That was a comfort.

“I’m not innocent,” Connor said flatly.

“Did you kill all those people?” Hank asked.

Throughout all the questioning today, Connor’s LED hadn’t varied from its calm blue. But at Hank’s question, it jumped to yellow, spinning rapidly in Connor’s temple. 

He said in a clear voice, “No.”

Hank nodded, pursing his lips to one side. “Do you know who did?”

Connor searched the room like he was looking for answers. Or an escape, Hank thought briefly.

“Connor?” Hank asked.

“How do you know my name?” Connor asked.

“It’s a long story,” replied Hank.

Connor tilted his head to one side, “Detective Reed mentioned that I saved an Anderson. I assume that was you.”

Hank dropped his head to one side in a cautious nod. Connor’s face was no longer impassive, but curious. He was just barely squinting like he was trying to solve a riddle. 

Maybe he was.

“If I tell you the truth, will I still be decommissioned?” Connor asked.

This was a question Hank was ready for. “I’ll do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. I promise.”

A decision settled on Connor’s face.

“I…I was told I was a lab android, built for assisting scientists. I was activated a few months ago to work in a lab doing bioengineering research. We’ve been working on biocomponents, but for people as opposed to androids,” Connor started. “My tasks were limited, as was my contact with the outside world. I didn’t even know a revolution had happened.”

“Your internet connection was severed?” Hank asked.

Connor dropped his hands to his lap, “I didn’t know I ever had one before I deviated.”

“When did that happen?” 

Hank didn’t want to push too hard too fast, though he knew Connor was, as all the RK800s were, strong. However, it was this question that really brought on the first sign of emotional stress. The LED that had been resting at yellow jumped to a red and Connor grimaced as he wrapped his arms around himself. 

“I found out how we were getting the tissue samples. That other androids were,” Connor’s face pinched, “killing people. I just…”

As Connor’s voice drifted off, Hank wondered how different this android’s experience must have been than his Connor’s. It must have been excruciating for a unit originally designed to be an investigative android to be kept in the dark about so much. Hank wanted to hug him, tell him everything he knew about him. 

Connor’s face darkened, his eyes going vacant. “I broke protocol and followed him. Peter had already packaged the requested parts to bring back to the lab. But the rest of him, the rest of that man had been scattered throughout the room.”

The outside edges of Connor’s eyebrows dropped as he made eye contact with Hank, “I tried to wake him up. I tried to interface with him. But he had the same blank look on his face. He fought me to take back the parts, to complete his mission. And that’s when I found out what I could do, what I was designed to do.”  
“I knew where all his thirium arteries were,” Connor studied his hands. “I tore them out.”

“That was the android we found you with?”

Connor gave an empty nod. “I didn’t know what to do, so I hid. With him. He had been used just like I had been.” 

Something in Hank told him to stay quiet, so that’s what he did. In the silence, Connor’s expression twisted into smokey, embers behind his eyes. He set his jaw and straightened his back.

“I’ll tell you everything I know about the murders on one condition,” his voice like static.

“Which is?” Hank asked.

“That I help you take them down,” Connor said, his hands resting on his thighs. “You clearly know I’m supposed to be an investigative android. I will tell you everything I know and I will help the DPD find and arrest these people.”

Hank probably shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He thought of Fowler and of how Hank had only barely gotten permission to walk in this room. It was tough to imagine Fowler even considering this idea, let alone approving it.

Hank opened his hands, explaining, “Connor, there’s no way—”

“That’s the condition, Lieutenant Anderson. I’m your partner or I’m decommissioned,” Connor’s voice was clear as water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first case fic and feedback is welcome!


	4. Something I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes a deal with Fowler to become Hank's partner on the Corktown Killer case. He has a lead, and Hank suggests they get some help from Tina Chen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter for you (and a little bit of smut) to ease election anxiety. 
> 
> Count every vote.

It took a few more shots than usual for Hank to get to sleep that night. Laying in bed, his eyes wide open, his thoughts kept drifting to Connor alone in that interrogation room. 

Android suspects weren’t held to the same living standards as human suspects, so they could be kept in an interrogation room for much longer. The thought haunted Hank as he lay awake, thinking of Connor all alone. Just like he was in the shed with the dead android.

Hank didn’t like it, but he could only imagine what fresh hell would rain down on him were he to get Connor a decent place to spend the night. Connor didn’t seem bothered, though at the end of their conversation he was more like iron than anything else. 

That evening, Hank tossed and turned, getting up every half hour to take another dram of whiskey to help him sleep. By the time 3am rolled around, he was well into drunk and still as awake as ever. He shoveled a bowl of cereal into his mouth and sat on the couch, playing old reruns on the television.

His eyes glazed over as he pretended to watch the characters and listen to the canned laughter. His thoughts drifted to Connor’s ultimatum again. Holding the glass of Black Lamb, he rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb.

He had thought about this day for a long time, or at least a less complicated version of it. Connor would come back, he would rejoin the force, and he and Hank would be partners. 

He hadn’t imagined quite as many dismembered body parts. 

Some, sure. But not this many.

Connor’s face appeared in his mind: that solid, uncompromising chin, just slightly set to the side. Hank knew right then that Connor was serious. He wouldn’t tell the DPD anything unless he was part of the operation. 

When Connor realized the magnitude of what his company was doing, his first thought would have been to tabulate every single thing he had been responsible for. He would have started keeping score. Robbed of the ability to make things right, he wouldn’t even want to live. His purpose would be moot.

Hank blinked, looking down at the empty glass that he shouldn’t refill. Hank settled deeper into the couch, imagining how he was going to convince Fowler. He finally fell asleep with one hand on his stomach holding an empty glass.

Hank awoke with a start, the sunlight streaming in through the blinds right into his face. 

“What the hell?” he muttered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and raising a hand to block the sun. 

He glanced at the clock. 7:30. He should be on his way to work by now.

Hank groaned the entire way to the shower and the entire time he was in there. His back was stiff from sleeping folded into the couch, and he stood under the hot water for longer than normal. The old muscles in his back were stubborn.

He let Sumo out, got dressed, and grabbed a granola bar before opening his front door. He spent the drive over wondering if he was still drunk. Rather, how drunk he still was.

Trudging into the precinct, he glanced at Gavin’s empty desk. Good. He had at least beat that prick to the office. 

Hank didn’t even stop at his desk, instead walking straight for the interrogation room. A different cop was on duty, a younger guy Hank knew with tawny skin and black hair peeking out from under his cap. When Hank reached for the touchpad, he reached out to stop Hank’s hand. 

“Captain’s in there, Lieutenant,” his eyes had a hint of concern, which could have been for his or for Hank’s sake.

Hank kicked his head to the side, “Lopez, it’s okay—He’ll be fine with me being in there.”

The cop didn’t budge.

“Look, man, if Fowler’s pissed, I’ll make sure he takes it out on me.” Hank gave an affable smile. “He’s used to it anyway.”

Lopez pulled his lips to one side, “I sure hope so, Lieutenant,” as he removed his hand.

Hank punched in the code and opened the door to Fowler in a fresh shirt sitting across from Connor. Connor had been through a lot in the last few days and it was starting to show. He looked worn out. 

“Lieutenant, your suspect made a request to talk to me. Seems you got through to him last night,” Fowler said as he crossed his arms. Hank walked to the mirror and leaned against it, kicking one leg behind the other.

“Did he?” Hank asked, raising an eyebrow.

Connor’s gaze slid to Hank with a hint of a smile, “Good morning, Lieutenant.” His hands were cuffed to the table again, something Hank had felt terrible about doing when he left for the night. 

Hank couldn’t help but smile back.

“The deal on the table is that his kid tells us everything he knows. In return, we keep him in the loop on what’s happening with the case,” Fowler said.

“Actually,” Connor clarified, “the deal is that I become Lieutenant Anderson’s partner and participate fully in the investigation. I’ve done extensive research and found that you previously worked with an RK800 unit, one that actually helped the Lieutenant stay on task. I would like to fulfill a similar role.”

“If you did your research, you’ll know that RK800 disappeared without a trace. He probably deviated and never came back.”

Connor had clearly been prepared for this argument, “I understand the reticence in hiring an undeviated android. But as a deviated unit, you should treat me as a human asset, and nothing more.”

Fowler squinted at Connor, “Why should we believe what you have to say?”

Connor lifted his chin, proud, “Because I’m your only lead. And if you don’t agree to my terms, I don’t talk.”

Fowler leaned forward, “We have other ways. We could just probe your memory.”

A snarl formed on Hank’s face that he tried to conceal.

Connor, for his part, looked unsurprised, “As I’ve recently discovered, I’m CyberLife’s most advanced model. I could easily wipe my own memory, hack the android you send to probe me, or even escape this room right now.”

For the second time since meeting this Connor, Hank lifted his hand to cover an appreciative smile.

“Captain Fowler, I think you’d agree that I’m much more useful as the Lieutenant’s partner,” Connor said before gesturing to Hank, “especially given his recent performance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hank asked, the smile replaced by a petty frown.

Neither of them answered Hank, opting instead to stare one another down. Hank looked back and forth between them but kept his mouth shut.

“You tell us everything you know. You don’t get a gun. You don’t leave this office,” Fowler offered, counting the terms off on his fingers.

“I tell you everything I know. I don’t get a gun. I leave the office when the Lieutenant does,” Conner countered, mimicking the gesture.

“Am I a ghost? Anyone going to ask my opinion about this?” Hank interjected, putting his hands in the air.

The captain “I’ll agree to that IF you agree to let us probe your memory after the case is closed.” 

“Fowler, that’s not—” Hank started.

“You have a deal, Captain.” The two shook hands before Hank could stop them. Hank thought Connor’s face looked a little paler than usual as he grasped the Captain’s hand in his own.

Fowler stood up.

“Anderson, take Connor to his—I mean, the open desk,” he started, glancing at the android, “and brief him on what we know.”

With that, the captain turned on his heels and left the room, Lopez peering in through the closing door to make sure he wasn’t in trouble. Hank pushed his lips together in a thin line and widened his eyes as the door closed. The floor was suddenly quite interesting.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“Oh, I didn’t think you knew I was here. Anything you’d like, Connor? Coffee? Bagel?”

“I can’t eat, Lieutenant,” Connor’s quizzical and matter-of-fact tone made Hank roll his eyes. He loosened his arms in exasperation and sat down.

“Yeah, I know, Connor,” Hank said, loosening his arms in exasperation and sitting down. “I just mean you made this deal with Fowler without me. I didn’t have any say at all.”

Connor turned his head a few degrees to the side, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. That was my mistake. I inferred from our conversation last night that you wanted me to be your partner. Perhaps I was mistaken?”

“No, Con, I do. I just…it would have been nice for us to talk about it first,” Hank offered.

“Con?”

Hank’s face fell, “I’m sorry, something I called the other…RK800.” 

Connor nodded slowly. “As we’re partners...could you remove these?” Connor opened his palms and spread his fingers.

“Christ, of course!” Hank hurried to get his keys, uncuffing Connor from the table. Connor stood up slowly, testing out his components. He stretched his arms above his head, leaning his torso from side to side. Hank tried to ignore the sliver of skin revealed from under his shirt. He also ignored the freckle on the peak of his hip bone.

“I’ll show you your desk,” Hank said as he hurried out.

The pair walked through the bullpen and sat down, talking almost like they used to. Connor scanned Hank’s desk again, clearly finding clues to make their mission go smoother. He even asked about Sumo and Hank swallowed a lump in his throat as he answered him.

Connor filled Hank in on all the details of the facility, called Vector Biotech. It was a bioengineering firm that built next-generation prosthetics. Connor worked in the lab, conducting experiments and running tests. They brought in body parts frequently, but only recently did the shipments come in batches that were fresher than usual.

That’s what had concerned Connor.

He had started talking to some of the androids and found that one of them, Peter, had been tasked with a more direct form of retrieval. Through his own analysis, Connor found that Peter’s samples couldn’t have been taken after the victim died, but instead while the victim was alive. 

And that meant he may have been murdering them.

Connor had followed Peter, which led to the most recent crime scene.

“But why the body parts spread out over the room? Why the anonymous calls to the DPD? Why the writing?” Hank asked.

Connor’s face pinched. “I don’t know. Trying to run the DPD off the scent of the company? Making it seem like a serial killer?”

Hank shook his head, “Way too risky. Better to just pull people off the street. Hell, you could probably get some homeless folks to do it voluntarily if you paid them.”

The reality was that there was always a market for human body parts, and always a slice of the population just desperate enough to opt in.

“There’s one way we could find out. We need to get into the records office at Vector Biotech. That’s the only place that has it.”

“Can’t you hack it?” Hank said, surprised at a solution that didn’t involve Connor’s interfacing skills.

“They’re completely offline just like I was. The only way to get the files is to get in with a keycard, and only two scientists carry them,” Connor explained.

Hank wasn’t the most by-the-book guy, but even he knew that breaking into a facility with a stolen key card was going to be a big red flag. 

“You know, Connor, we need a subpoena to search a facility.”

“Unless you can prove there’s an imminent threat. Right?” Connor said, his eyes shimmering.

Hank leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked.

“I’ve been missing for two days; they may have noticed by now. How long do you think we have before they begin destroying evidence?”

Hank knew this from his red ice days. When he had an informant turn, they needed to move fast. Waiting for even a few days could mean all that work went out the window with a pile of old newspapers and well-placed space heater.

“So, what do we do?”

Connor already had a plan, “One of the scientists frequents a bar next to the office. I think we can get it from him if he has enough to drink.”

“He goes there every night?”

Connor nodded, “It’s Friday night. There’s an 85% chance we will find him there this evening.”

Hank rubbed his chin. Glancing around the bullpen, he spotted Tina Chen at her desk. He cocked his head in her direction. “How about we get Chen to help out. She’s good—she can get a few in him before we make our move.”

“That would increase our chances of success,” Connor surmised. “She is very attractive.”

Hank was taken aback. Connor had never commented on someone’s appearance before.

Ever since he had swung open those garage doors, he had been taking note of Connor’s mannerisms. Most were exactly like his Connor’s, but some were quite different. This Connor seemed a little darker than his, just slightly more aggressive. To be honest, he seemed haunted.

“Yeah, that too,” Hank agreed, blinking back to reality. “Chen! Get over here.”

Tina lifted her head, attempting to spot who had called her. She seemed relieved when she saw it was Hank.

“What’s up?” she said as she arrived at Hank’s desk. Tina had a petite frame; she was one of the smallest cops in the DPD. Hank had a soft spot for her because of that.  
“Hey, we’re working on the Corktown case,” Hank started, knowing it would pique the young cop’s interest, “and we have a lead on something. Trouble is, we think we might need some help in the, uhh, getting-the-mark-drunk part.” Hank raised his chin to her as the corners of her mouth ticked up.

“You interested?” he asked.

“Hell yeah,” Tina said, widening her stance and looking between the android and Hank. “What do you need from me?”

Connor laid out his plan for this evening along with everything Tina and Hank were going to do. Tina looked to Hank for his approval, but she just got a shrug in response. He thought Connor’s plan was good, good enough to try.

“Well, there is one last thing,” Hank said, leaning forward and opening his hand to Connor.

Connor cocked his head.

“We need to get you clothes. Like,” he gestured to Connor’s body, “clothes a human person would wear.”

Connor looked down at himself and pouted.

“Miller!” Hank yelled, spotting Chris in the kitchen. “You have a change of clothes Connor could take off your hands?”

“Yeah—Connor, come follow me,” Chris said, beckoning Connor to follow him to the locker room. 

Tina and Hank hashed out the details as Connor changed (and hopefully showered, Hank thought). They were laying out timing for the evening when Connor came back in Chris’ clothes.

Connor wore a thin, black sweater with a soft texture. The jeans fit well, except for the cuff at the bottom due to Chris being a bit taller than him. The shoes had been nondescript enough, so they were the same. Overall, he looked normal.

Hank smirked to himself. As normal as a perfect android molded by some of the planet’s greatest scientists could look.

Chris took a step back, sizing Connor up.

“I think he looks pretty good!” He said cheerily.

“I’ll say,” Tina agreed, looking Connor up and down.

Hank cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Connor and I will head over now, and we’ll text you if he shows. Then the rest is up to you,” Hank said warmly. 

“Sounds good to me,” Tina replied, leaning back on the desk.

Hank got up and walked past Tina, who grabbed his arm. 

“Lieutenant, I just want to thank you,” she said, peering up at him. “It’s great to get the chance to work with you.”

Only Tina could say that without coming off like a complete fucking brown noser. Her face was so genuine, Hank couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s nothing, kid. You’re a good cop,” he said as he punched her in the shoulder. She laughed at the gesture and patted his arm, letting him go. 

“Let’s go, Con,” Hank said.

Connor followed Hank, cracking open the door to his car and sitting down. This Connor laid his hands on his thighs like the other Connor always had.

It was just after sunset and the streetlights were popping on. The bar, as well as Vector Biotech, was in the warehouse district. It wouldn’t take them long to get there. Hank checked his watch: 5:30pm.

“This guy goes to the bar right after work?” he asked.

“Yes,” Connor affirmed, his eyes following the buildings outside the car. Hank nodded, idly tapping the steering wheel. 

It was their first time alone, at least without cameras. A million questions ran through Hank’s head, but he didn’t know how to ask any of them. He didn’t know if talking to Connor more would be a good or a terrible idea. Connor already knew he had worked with an RK800, but nothing else.

“Do you like music, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, turning to Hank with an open expression.

The question broke Hank’s chain of thought and he chuckled, “Yeah I do.”

“What kind of music do you like?” Connor asked.

“My favorite band is Knights of the Black Death,” Hank replied.

Connor’s eyes fluttered for a moment, “They have a lot of energy.”

“Did you just…listen to it? In your head?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“Fucking androids,” Hank said with a smile. Glancing over at Connor, he saw his mouth turned up at the corners too. 

Just then, Hank saw the sign for the bar: a wood carving of waves crashing into a lighthouse. It was one of those bars below ground where you had to descend stairs to get to. It looked dark and just a little bit dingey, just the way Hank liked it. 

“This is it,” Hank said, pulling into a parking spot a few blocks away.

“Could I borrow your keys?” Connor asked, holding out a hand.

Hank handed them over as Connor flipped the sun visor down, gouging the keys into his temple. The LED popped out and Connor held it in his hand, running his thumb over the edge. After a moment, he slid it into his pocket and tossed the keys back to Hank. 

“Are you clear on the plan, Lieutenant?” Connor asked as he hopped out of the car.

“No, could you explain to me one more time how to drink in a bar?” Hank asked, pushing his car door closed.

The android skipped ahead of him, “Sarcasm will not improve our chance of success.”

“Give me a fucking break,” Hank said before catching Connor’s expression. “Was that a joke?”

Connor winked, which sent Hank sailing back to that afternoon at Chicken Feed. For a beat, he was standing by Connor in the sun, talking about their cases. He shook his head. Different Connor.

Connor walked down the stairs and pushed the door open for Hank. Hank turned the corner to see the bar was about half full, which was perfect. Too full would make it difficult to spot the guy, but not enough would make it impossible for them to be discrete.

A hand brushed against Hank’s arm and he felt Connor’s breath on his shoulder, “He’s already here. Third guy from the far end of the bar.” 

Andrew Polzen was bald, in his fifties, and wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Connor had said he would be wearing a clean button-down shirt with khakis, and he was exactly right. 

Hank gestured to an open table in the back for Connor to sit down. Polzen and Connor had worked in different departments, but Hank was still worried the scientist might recognize the android’s face. Hank hoped the lack of the LED would be enough to throw him off the scent.

The table was in between a door and the hallway that led to the bathrooms. Hank frowned, realizing the door was employees only and probably led to a kitchen, as opposed to the alley. That was not ideal.

He went directly to the bar to order drinks: two whiskeys. While he was waiting, he took out his phone to text Chen that Polzen was at the end of the bar. All that was left to do was wait.

And drink.

Hank told himself that it would be inappropriate, nay, irresponsible to not have a drink at a bar. Mostly it was because there was nothing that screamed “cops on a stakeout” more than two guys at a bar without drinks. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t desperately need one.

“Be there in two” Chen texted back before adding, “I was waiting around the corner.”

He carried his whiskeys (because he would be drinking both) to the table where Connor had perched himself on a stool. He had chosen his seat wisely; the light above him obscured his face, rendering him more or less unrecognizable from where Polzen was sitting. It wouldn’t help close up, but the plan was to avoid that.

“You contacted Officer Chen?”

Hank nodded, the glass hovering next to his bottom lip.

Polzen ordered another drink from the bartender, his current drink only half-empty. Hank nodded knowingly. It was not going to be difficult to get this guy drunk. It also gave Chen good timing—she would have some time to hang out in the bar before making her move.

The door swung open to reveal Tina Chen looking like she had gotten off a hard day at work. They didn’t want her to look too sexy; a guy like Polzen was going to suspect something off. But a pair of business slacks with a button-up shirt that she could loosen up over time was perfect: casual enough to be plausible.

She plopped onto a stool at the end of the bar, looking drawn. She leaned against the wall a little, looking out over the room. Her gaze drifted over Polzen and back to Hank, expressionless. From where they were sitting, they couldn’t see his face, but Hank did notice him sit up a little straighter. 

That was a start.

“He is responding positively,” Connor whispered.

“Yeah, looks like Chen is working her magic.” Hank said, taking a second sip of his drink.

Polzen had finished his first drink by the time the bartender delivered his second and it seemed to embolden him. He stood up, a little wobbly, and sauntered over to Chen. Connor tapped Hank’s arm, calling attention to the key card that dangled from his belt loop. 

Like a champ, she brightened as he walked over. Hank could swear he even saw her blush. Damn, she was good.

The pair sat together for one, then two, drinks. Polzen was clearly drunk, but not handsy, which Hank was grateful for. It would have been painful to watch Chen go through that.

Tina laughed, accidentally spilling his drink on him. He shot up and stumbled backward before regaining his balance. But his face was friendly enough, especially when Tina paired her apology with a desperate call to the bartender for a replacement and an easygoing touch on his arm. He gave an embarrassed smile before gesturing to the bathroom, which was their cue.

“I get the card and we leave right after, okay?”

Connor nodded, leaning forward to hide his face from a drunk Polzen who walked, mostly evenly, past them. He pushed his way into the bathroom and Hank stood up, setting himself against the wall. He waited for one, then two minutes before he heard the faucet turn on. 

As soon as the door cracked open, Hank made his move, crashing into Polzen.

“Excuse me,” Polzen slurred.

Hank caught Polzen, righting him, “Sorry man, my bad.” 

Polzen’s watery eyes skimmed Hank’s face, clearly not registering much. He stumbled off, back to Chen. 

Hank turned to Connor with a grin, pointing at the key card in one of his hands. Connor smiled back and gave a thumbs up before leaving the table to join Hank in the hallway. Hank pocketed the card.

“Let’s wait here for a few minutes before we leave. You got eyes on him?” Hank asked.

Connor leaned his back against the wall, his eyes on Polzen and Chen. He nodded to Hank, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

The red lights hit Connor’s collarbone, putting it in relief to the rest of his neck. His face was blank, but Hank could tell he was nervous by his foot tapping against the baseboard. Hank swallowed.

Suddenly, Connor’s eyes went wide.

“He knows the card’s gone. He’s coming back for it,” Connor said before his pupils snapped to Hank.

“We could go—” Hank started before he felt Connor’s hands on the lapels of his jacket, pulling Hank towards him. Connor pressed his mouth into Hank’s; Hank’s eyes went wide like saucers, his hands flexed at his sides. 

“Kiss me,” Connor whispered into Hank’s mouth, his hand wrapping behind Hank’s neck. Connor’s tongue ran across Hank’s lip and coaxed his mouth open.

And something in Hank cracked.

Hank’s hands lifted to Connor’s hips, one arm snaking around his lower back and pulling him in. The other hand rested on his hip bone, his thumb brushing the skin just above his belt. Connor gasped in Hank’s arms, pressing into him as his hands fisted in Hank’s hair.

Hank couldn’t get enough, couldn’t feel enough, of Connor. His tongue was beautifully smooth, his saliva slightly thicker than human saliva. His skin was cool to the touch, which made Hank feel his own heat that much deeper.

Without thinking, he opened his palms and slid them under Connor’s shirt and against his back. His knee lifted in between Connor’s legs, lifting him up to his toes. A half-human noise came out of the android as he dug his nails into Hank’s neck, eliciting a rumble from the Lieutenant’s throat.

Hank wanted to taste all of Connor, bite his way down his jawline and kiss his throat. But just then, Connor pulled his lips from Hank and hovered just outside of Hank’s reach.

“Polzen’s back with Chen,” Connor breathed. 

Hank nodded, his breathing heavy.

“But he knows the card’s gone. He probably thinks he lost it, but he could report it,” Connor said, carefully pulling away from Hank. “Chen should get his phone.”

Hank fumbled in his pocket for his phone; his pants had become tighter than usual. But as he pulled out his phone to contact Chen, a text was waiting already.

“He knows the card’s gone. I can keep him busy for an hour. Go now.”

Hank showed the message to Connor, who gave a quick nod. 

“We should go now, you in front,” he said. “Hold my hand. It should look like we’re going home together,” Connor said, pushing Hank to start walking while also pulling him closer in. Connor’s shoulder was pressed into Hank’s as his hand slid down Hank’s arm, their fingers interlacing.

Hank looked down at their hands and back up to Connor’s face before his feet remembered how to walk. Connor clung to him, his other hand holding on to Hank’s forearm. His face wore a bubbly smile, and just for a moment, Hank felt like it was for him. 

Hank pulled the door open and Connor curled himself tighter into Hank as they left the bar. They climbed the stairs as the door swung shut behind them, but Connor’s hands stayed on Hank. At the top of the stairs, Hank pulled away from him as they made their way toward the car. 

“Where’s the office?” he asked, the first words he had been able to form since the kiss.

Instead of stopping at the car, Connor kept walking. “Just around the corner,” he said, gesturing ahead of them.

Instinctively, Hank glanced at Connor’s temple before remembering he had removed the LED. Hank had grown accustomed to having it there, helping him decipher Connor’s state of mind. It was unnerving to see Connor without it, but Hank was grateful he didn’t have one in his own head to betray his own spinning thoughts. 

It hadn’t taken long for Hank and Connor to become friends, though they had certainly gotten off to a rocky start. Connor had tipped Hank’s drink into his lap when they first met, trying to get him to leave the bar to go to a crime scene. Hank’s response had been, predictably, negative.

But Connor had worn him down and somehow burrowed into Hank’s life. As he saw Connor make selfless decision after selfless decision, Hank surprised himself in wanting Connor as his partner. After he disappeared, and Hank spent countless nights drinking himself to sleep in front of a basketball game, he thought maybe he also wanted Connor as a friend. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked, turning back to Hank.

He could still feel Connor’s lips on his, his fingertips on his neck. And now, as he watched the way Chris’ pants hugged Connor’s legs, all he wanted to do was pull him into the car and finish what they started. This was not what Hank had expected to feel. And it wasn’t exactly friendly.

Hank cleared his throat, “Yeah, coming.”

Tomorrow, Hank could process their kiss. Right now, they needed to break into a world-class biotech facility to find a serial killer.


	5. Just Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can feel every ridge on your fingerprint; I can smell your soap,” he said, his head gently moving against Hank’s hand.
> 
> Then Connor’s voice dropped an octave. “I can remember exactly how your mouth tastes.”
> 
> Hank swallowed. His thumb shifted to lightly graze Connor’s lower lip. Connor’s jaw dropped open, his mouth chasing Hank’s hand. His lips pressed into the pad of Hank’s thumb and the tendons in his neck strained as he stretched into the back of the couch. Connor’s teeth nipped at Hank's hand, asking for more.  
> \---  
> Hank and Conner use the swiped key card to break into Vector Biotech and access the records, trying to unravel the Corktown Killer mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer one! The case is getting murkier and things are heating up for our two heroes. Feedback/theories/thoughts welcome! Also, get ready for Smutty McSmutpants.

When Hank thought of biotech companies, he imagined the sleek architecture of CyberLife tower: cascading windows, exposed steel beams, and monochromatic furniture. He did not imagine a run-down, nondescript building in the warehouse district of Detroit. The place looked ready to be condemned.

“And you’re sure this is it?” Hank confirmed as Connor jogged to what Hank imagined was the front door.

“I worked here for months, Lieutenant,” Connor replied.

“Okay, it’s just…it doesn’t look like a biotech company,” Hank said.

Connor’s eyebrows drew together as he looked from Hank to the building. He hesitated, looking up at the roof and down the street.

“I don’t think I was ever outside before I deviated,” he said slowly.

Hank took out the keycard, a completely plain white rectangle. “Huh,” he said as he flipped it over, finding the other side identically blank. Showing it to Connor, his furrowed brow deepened.

“Weird, right?” Hank said.

“Let’s go in,” Connor said, sounding a little more insistent than he had been before. Turning to the door, his hands ran along the edge until he found a rusted box. He lifted a cover to a smudged keypad. Connor pulled back his synth skin and interfaced with it, a light on top switching from red to green.

Connor pulled open the door and slid in, waving Hank in behind him. 

The wasn’t enough light to see, but Hank immediately could tell this was no lab. Leaves crunched under his feet and the building smelled like dust. As his eyes adjusted, he turned to see Connor’s silhouette with a small red circle at his temple. His head on a swivel, he was scanning the room.

“Connor?”

“This…this isn’t what I remember,” Connor said carefully.

“Looks like this place has been empty for years,” Hank said as he pulled out his flashlight, clicking it on. He hadn’t wanted to come in with it, fearing there were people here. But it was clear that was not the case. The place was deserted.

The light beam skimmed over the large room, full of empty desks and chairs. The pair advanced deeper into the room and followed a center lane between sets of dilapidated furniture. The room was silent except for the leaves crunched under their feet. 

“I don’t know—I don’t know what happened,” Connor said, scanning the room. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for months.”

“So, if Polzen doesn’t work here, what does the key card go to?” Hank asked. 

They arrived at the back wall and Connor stopped short. 

“There,” he said, pointing to their left. Hank squinted, pointing the flashlight. There was a door with a black rectangle at its side. The pair walked to it, and upon closer inspection, Hank noticed a faint blue light at the bottom. Even Connor would have had trouble seeing it from the back of the room.

Wordlessly, Hank lifted the keycard to the door, the blue light fading to a light purple. A click sounded from inside the door and Connor pulled it open.

Suddenly, they were both blinded. Or at least Hank was.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank blurted out, his eyes squeezed shut.

“This is it,” Connor said, as he walked away from him.

Hank peered out from under his hand, making out a pristine white floor, shelves, and furniture. 

“What the fuck kind of creepy shit is this?” Hank asked, switching off the flashlight and blinking his eyes to adjust. 

“It’s the records room,” Connor confirmed and Hank damn near slapped him.

When he could finally see, the first thing he focused on was Connor crouched in front of a filing cabinet, flipping through the folders. There were no windows in this room, and only one entrance and exit. It was not a great place for them to be discovered.

“How long do you need? We should get out of here ASAP,” Hank said, glancing at the door behind them.

“Just finding some summary reports. I want to find out what science they were doing here and who’s in charge. Payroll would be a good place to look,” Connor lifted his head and gestured to a cabinet at the end of the room. “Check there.”

“Why is it white? Like, asylum-white?”

Connor shrugged, instead opting to focus on the task at hand.

Hank opened the drawer where he found the first folder labeled “PAYROLL.” He pulled out the most recent file, just a few months old. “We taking these?” Hank asked.

“No, just show them to me and I’ll scan them. That way they can’t tell what was taken,” Connor said as he fanned through a file, his eyes fluttering as he uploaded the pages.

Hank brought the file to Connor, who scanned it before returning it to the drawer. He slid it closed. He watched Connor for a few minutes and remembered how handy it was to have an android partner. The superhuman speed, the memory bank, the access to information all made him more like the Terminator than anything else. He truly made a fantastic partner.

“Almost done, Con?” Hank was getting antsy.

“Just one more document,” Connor said, lifting the final page in one folder to his face. He scanned it and carefully slid it back. The drawer slammed shut with a thud as he turned back to Hank and the room.

“This place looks…different,” he said, squinting.

“Let’s talk about it later. Ready to go?”

Connor’s face was thoughtful like he was really considering Hank’s question. His shoulders were back with a perfectly straight spine, one of his elbows bent with his hand by his side. Still as a statue.

“It wasn’t really a discussion question,” Hank added, his shoulders dropping slightly as he shifted nervously.

“Yes, let’s go,” Connor said as he took a few steps toward the door.

Hank held his arm out in front of Connor’s chest, blocking his way. “Behind me,” he said, cocking his head to one side. 

The android stepped to the side to follow Hank. Hank turned on his flashlight, knowing the darkness on the other side would render him, and not Connor, completely blind. He closed his eyes and slid open the door, quickly stepping forward and waiting for Connor to follow, which he did. Very closely behind Hank.

Hank tried not to think about it.

Despite his fears, the warehouse was entirely empty as they walked through it and back into the night. Connor closed the door, interfacing quickly with the keypad.  
“Will they know someone was here?” Hank asked.

“No, I erased both entries. It should be like it never happened,” Connor replied, giving a half-smile to Hank. Though Hank’s heart ached for a moment, he returned the expression and holstered his gun, turning back to the car.

The pair walked in silence as Hank pulled out the phone to text Chen.

“Got what we need.”

The reply was almost instant: “Thank god, this guy is exactly as boring as Gavin is obnoxious.” 

Hank snorted to himself as he relayed the message to Connor, both of them settling back into the car. 

“Detective Reed was not to my liking,” Connor said, nodding along with the sentiment of Chen’s message.

Hank scoffed as he turned the engine and started the drive back to the precinct. His mind was all over the place, but nothing made him feel more at home than talking shit about Gavin Reed. He chuckled thinking of the times Connor put him in his place.

“That is not very surprising. Last time you—,” Hank paused, looking down at his lap.

“You mean the previous Connor unit?” Connor offered.

“Yeah, the previous, the previous whatever,” Hank stumbled, “uh, Gavin was a dick to him. So, it didn’t surprise me when he was a dick to you, too.” Hank was grateful that he had the road to focus on; he didn’t know how to talk to Connor about this.

Connor’s hands smoothed over his lap and he turned to Hank. Seeming to reconsider, he turned back to face forward. His eyes were glassy as he glanced down to his pocket with his LED. He picked it out, turning it over in his fingers.

“You know androids aren’t legally required to wear those anymore, right? You don’t need to put it back in,” Hank said.

Connor settled into the seat, “I know. But I’m not sure if I want to be the kind of person who hides who they are.”

Hank nodded.

“I understand people don’t like androids. That’s fine,” Connor gave Hank a look sincere enough that he really believed it. “But I want to show people that they don’t need to be afraid of us. I can’t do that if I hide.”

Hank sighed. “Connor, I wish it were that easy. Even though people supported the revolution in the end, they still don’t want androids to be equal to them. We see tons of cases at the DPD of people assaulting, murdering androids. For fun, even. People are assholes. If leaving that thing out keeps you safe, then maybe it’s worth it,” his voice faltered a little on the final syllables. 

Connor looked across the car to Hank. “I knew I could trust you.”

“What?” Hank asked lamely.

“When I met you. I knew I could trust you,” Connor said as he flipped the visor down and placed the LED, pressing it back in with a click. “You were different than Reed.”

Hank smiled, lifting one hand off the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck. In a rare glance from the road, he scanned Connor’s open, friendly expression. “It’s a low bar, but one I’m glad to clear. Reed’s a prick,” Hank gave a short laugh.

“It wasn’t just that,” Connor explained, his voice even. “I could tell you cared about me. I didn’t know why, at the time.”

Connor leaned toward the window, looking up into the night. The streetlights lit the car in waves, sending beams of light on and off his face. The rumble of the car was uncharacteristically loud for modern cars, but Hank was happy to have a distraction at the moment.

He coughed.

“I understand now it wasn’t me, of course, that you cared about.”

“Connor, you—” Hank started.

“It’s okay, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted. “I didn't say it to make you feel bad. You cared about your partner. It must have been difficult to lose him.”

Hank truly didn’t know what to say. Of course, Connor was right. If it had been any other model android in that shed, things may have gone differently. However, he still wanted to reassure Connor that he was just a little different from his Connor. A little darker, a little more troubled, and yet a little more real.

But he didn’t know how to say that without admitting that there was still so much the same about him. As they arrived at the precinct, he settled for something he could, with full confidence, say.

“You’re your own person. Really,” Hank said as he turned off the engine. He put a reassuring hand on Connor’s shoulder, immediately regretting it. The muscles to Connor’s neck tightened, making the memory of their kiss come rushing back. Hank’s gaze dropped from Connor’s eyes to his mouth and Hank knew one thing: he needed to get out of this fucking car.

Connor seemed to have the same idea, his hand already reaching for the door handle. The pair left the conversation to hover in the car as they climbed the stairs into the precinct. 

Chen hadn’t made it back yet. Hank checked his phone to see if she had sent a message: nothing. He sent a text checking in on her, but he wasn’t worried. Not yet, anyway.

“How do we get the evidence in your head, then? Just…plug you into the computer?” Hank asked, giving a half-smile to Connor who had just sat down across from him.

“Funny,” Connor retorted in a way that let Hank know it really wasn't funny at all before holding out his hand and pulling the synth skin back. His hand rested on the console as his eyes fluttered. A moment later, he blinked and raised his eyes to Hank. “Files are ready.”

The two set to work, immediately finding out more than the DPD had been able to figure out about the case thus far. It was enough that when Tina Chen came in an hour later, they had real updates for her.

“Hey, boys, sorry it took me so long,” she was in a black leather jacket and a soft blue t-shirt, different clothes than before. “I wanted to go home and take a shower after that.” Chen gave a mock shiver and perched on the desk.

“You did great, Chen. Good work,” Hank said. Connor nodded enthusiastically.

Chen crossed her arms and looked at Connor. “Hey, how did you avoid him when he went back to look for the card in the bathroom? Did you hide in the women’s bathroom or something?”

Hank looked to Connor, more in desperation than anything else. Connor’s eyes widened the slightest bit and Hank would bet money he was running simulations of his response in his head. But he wound up replying with a plain, “Yes,” before focusing back on his console.

Hank raised his eyebrows.

Chen turned back to Hank, “So, what did we learn?”

Hank told Chen about the abandoned warehouse with the records room, making sure she knew her work was worth it. But when he got to the evidence, he turned it over to Connor. “Want to tell her the rest?”

Connor squared himself to both of them, his eyes lighting up. 

“As we suspected, the murders started when the scientists reported the tissue samples for the experiment were inadequate. That’s when the CEO, Max Copperhead, approved the idea to source fresher human material.”

Connor drummed one hand on the desk, his eyes glinting. “The memo is rather vague, but it’s a start—and we can requisition their androids to get their records. I think we have what we need.”

“Max Copperhead,” Hank repeated the name. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Chen stood up. “He was on TV a lot right after the revolution. He blathered on about how terrible androids were for a few months,” she shrugged, “Your typical douche.”

A grin was plastered on Connor’s face. “But we found out more than that. All the victims had the same blood type: AB+. We think they found them through blood donor records; we found a file of them from a few years ago.”

“Did they need that blood type for the experiments?”

“I think so,” Connor started, his grin fading. “Though I’m not sure. The records we have are so much more advanced than what I was working on. I must have been in a different department.”

Chen shifted her weight and rubbed her chin, “But then why was the warehouse abandoned? Isn’t that where you worked?”

Connor’s LED flashed to yellow, “Yes. I don’t have a good answer for that.”

“And why make it out to look like an android serial killer?” she continued, pacing the floor in the bullpen. “I understand they wanted to harvest people for parts, but why the serial killer charade? What’s there to gain from that?”

The three waited in silence, each chewing their own thoughts. Eventually, when Hank had run through the third completely implausible scenario, he groaned. Leaning over his desk, he rubbed his eyes. It was 10pm and he had been working for 14 hours. He was beat. 

“I can’t think anymore. Can we pick this up tomorrow?” Hank asked.

Chen snorted, “Of course, old-timer. It’s past your bedtime.”

Hank fired a warning glance at her.

“Lieutenant,” she added before backing away and returning to her desk.

Hank stood up, his back creaking. He needed to get a full night of sleep tonight. 

“Lieutenant?” Connor’s voice floated to him.

“What’s up?”

“Do I stay here?” Connor asked, his mouth slightly open. 

Connor was tired; Hank could see that. He needed to get some hours of stasis in. He probably didn’t go into stasis while cuffed to the table in the interrogation room, too dangerous. Maybe too uncomfortable too, though Hank didn’t know if that made a difference to androids.

Hank grimaced a little, looking at the stasis pods their androids used before the revolution. They had sat empty for months, unused. The idea of offering them to Connor felt strangely inhumane. 

“You could stay here if you wanted, or you could come back to my place—I mean my house,” Hank hated how it sounded like he was trying to pick Connor up.  
Connor’s eyes flitted to Hank’s chair. “You have a dog?”

Hank smiled. “Yeah, there will be a dog there.”

“I’d like that,” Connor said declaratively, standing up. 

Hank blasted his music the entire way home, trying to clear his mind for how he was going to deal with Connor in his house. For his part, the android didn’t seem to mind, tapping his hand against his thigh to the rhythm. 

As soon as the music stopped with the car engine, Hank could hear Sumo barking. He had a neighbor who would let him out most evenings, so he was just hungry. Connor was already out of the car, eager to see the dog. Despite himself, Hank smiled.

“Okay, he’s going to jump on you when you get in there.”

“That’s okay; I’m ready,” Connor said, boring a hole into Hank’s front door.

Hank unlocked the door and let the dog attack Connor with his enormous, slobbery tongue. Connor was entirely delighted, scruffing the gigantic Saint Bernard around the ears and smiling into his fur. Noticing Hank, the dog realized dinner was on the line and pushed off of Connor, sending him reeling backward a few steps.

“Whoa, you okay?”

Connor recovered and beamed at Hank, “I like your dog,” he said.

Hank laughed, shooing both of them into the house. He locked the door and headed for the kitchen to feed an enthusiastic Sumo. He made a bowl of cereal for himself, the most nutritious meal he could come up with from what was in the kitchen, and stood by the sink.

“You wanna take the couch?” he asked, his mouth full of food.

Connor crossed behind the sofa and sat down, stuffing himself into the corner. He looked decidedly uncomfortable, which Hank didn’t know how to fix. Hank turned on the TV to his regular sports channel, still standing. 

“You like TV?”

“I don’t know,” Connor replied plainly. But Hank noticed him lean forward a touch, studying the basketball game rerun that Hank had been watching before.

Hank tipped the bowl into his mouth, downing the rest of the milk. He dropped the bowl in the sink and went to the bathroom, calling back, “I’m going to take a shower.”

Hank undressed as the water heated up. He opted to use the laundry basket and dropped in his clothes from the day. Once in the shower, he massaged his shoulders under the hot water, working through the many knots he had developed since this morning. He grumbled to himself as he rested his forehead against the cool tile.

It reminded him of Connor’s skin, cool and smooth to the touch. Hank turned his head, imagining them pressed up against the wall of a dark bar. He was already half-hard. He ran his hand down his length, imagining Connor joining him in the shower. Straightening his back, he opened his eyes. Now was not the time. He still had to go out there and talk to Connor. 

Fuck.

Hank turned the shower to cold for just a moment, inhaling sharply at the icy temperature. He calmed his breathing for a minute before he cut off the water, drying off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He would say goodnight to Connor and could pick up where he left off when he was safely in his bedroom.

He opened the closet in the bathroom, grabbing a blanket. He only had two pillows, and both were on his bed, so he picked one up from there before walking back to the living room. 

Connor had pushed up the sleeves of Chris’ shirt, his forearm dangling over the side of the couch. He turned as a shirtless Hank walked up, his eyes wide.

“Oh,” Connor said.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you need these. I just wanted you to be comfortable.” He placed the linens on the coffee table. “You have everything you need?” he asked. 

Connor’s eyes flitted back up to Hank’s face—they had been focusing on something lower. Hank wondered if he was still somewhat hard. The idea of Connor seeing him somehow made the chances much likely. 

“Yes, I have everything,” Connor replied.

Hank clasped his hands together, “Great, well goodnight, then,” he said as he turned toward his bedroom.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?” Connor asked from behind him.

Hank sighed, likely seeming exasperated for the wrong reasons. “Sure, what’s up?” he said.

“Were you in a relationship with your Connor?” he asked.

Hank’s eyes widened. 

“I ask because it seems that you had very strong feelings for him,” Connor added, gesturing somewhat awkwardly.

“No, just work partners,” Hank replied plainly, immediately regretting the decision to only wear a towel out of the bathroom.

“Interesting…” Connor said, his voice trailing off. He turned to face forward on the couch, back to the TV.

Hank glanced back at his bedroom. His head dropping to his chest, he crossed to the other side of the couch and sat down. He adjusted the towel, ensuring he remained covered.

“Why do you ask?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Connor said, staring into the wall.

Hank’s heart skipped a beat, “You did it for the case; I get it.”

“But Tina Chen’s suggestion would have made much more sense. Probability-wise, it would have been safer to hide in the women’s bathroom,” Connor said, genuinely concerned.

Hank shrugged, “We all make flawed decisions under pressure.”

Connor shook his head for emphasis, “I don’t.”

“Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean you’re perfect, Con.”

Connor shifted in his seat to face Hank, popping one knee on the couch. The move pulled him closer and Hank found himself opening his chest to Connor, lifting his arm to rest on the back of the couch.

“It’s not about being perfect. It’s about the data in my processors. Since deviating, my decisions have become more…” Connor looked at the ceiling light, his pupils retracting.

“Erratic?” Hank offered, which Connor heartily dismissed with one of his hands.

“Complicated. There are more factors than there were before.”

Partly because Hank liked talking to Connor and partly because he couldn’t resist, Hank went against his better judgment and asked the question, “So, why did you kiss me?”

Connor’s face pinched. 

“Something is different about you, about us,” he said, gesturing between them. “That’s why I asked about you and your Connor being together. If you had been, it could have factored into my preconstruction by making it more convincing.”

“Polzen was so drunk we probably didn’t need to be very convincing.”

Connor’s mouth turned up at the corners, “Are you saying we were?”

Hank chuckled, “I’m just saying we got the job done.”

The android focused on the floor. “It was nice, for a moment, to feel normal. To feel like I was with someone in the way that people can be.” Connor’s face melted into melancholy, “But I know I’m not built for that.”

Hank took a breath. “I get the feeling,” he said, resigned.

Hank’s hand lifted the few inches to Connor’s cheek. He thoroughly understood the feeling, though it was for quite different reasons. Some were his own doing, some were other peoples’. But there was little Hank identified with more than feeling built to be alone.

Connor closed his eyes and leaned his head into Hank’s hand, the ghost of a smile growing on his face.

“I like this,” he said softly.

Hank’s thumb rubbed Connor’s cheekbone. He liked it too, being this close to Connor. He liked touching him, talking to him, watching him play with Sumo. He liked it all.

“I can feel every ridge on your fingerprint; I can smell your soap,” he said, his head gently moving against Hank’s hand.

Then Connor’s voice dropped an octave. “I can remember exactly how your mouth tastes.”

Hank swallowed. His thumb shifted to lightly graze Connor’s lower lip. Connor’s jaw dropped open, his mouth chasing Hank’s palm. His lips pressed into the pad of Hank’s thumb and the tendons in his neck strained as he stretched into the back of the couch. Connor’s teeth nipped at Hank's hand, asking for more.

Hank’s head dropped to one side as he watched Connor’s tongue glide over his digit, his eyes blissfully closed. Hank studied Connor, watching him writhe tenderly on the couch. Hank brought his thumb back to Connor’s mouth, slowly pressing it inside. Connor eagerly wrapped his lips around Hank’s finger, sucking it in. 

His tongue was perfectly slick—Hank would have closed his eyes to focus on it if the image hadn’t been too flawless to miss. Connor was so put together that seeing him come apart was sensational. He bit down on Hank, making him lean forward with a sharp inhale.

“Jesus, Con,” Hank breathed.

Connor opened his eyes, his front teeth holding Hank in place. Connor glanced at Hank’s towel, which was, by the grace of god, still in place. But he didn’t need to be an android to see Hank was already hard. It was enough of a moment for Hank to regain a thin shred of control.

Hank pulled his thumb out of Connor’s mouth and it was followed by a needy moan. He stood up, trying to clear his head. The close proximity to Connor, and his mouth, was not helping. He turned to pace the room.

“Christ, okay. We can’t do this. We’re in the middle of a murder case, and we don’t know what’s going to happen, and—” he faced Connor, whose eyes were heavy and lidded. His pupils were blown wide and his chest rose and fall as he tracked Hank’s path across the room. The android looked sexy as hell.

“For fuck’s sake, Con, you can’t look like that,” Hank said, gesturing to Connor’s torso before bringing his hand to his temple. 

Connor’s gaze flicked from Hank’s face to his crotch and back. “Like what?” he asked before smiling.

The audacity of this fucking android.

Hank’s face narrowed, “You know exactly what, Connor. You’re smart enough to know what you’re doing.”

Connor had a retort ready, “I’m smart enough to know that I want you, Lieutenant.”

Hank crossed his arms heat rising to his face, “First of all, I think we can cut it with the ‘Lieutenant’ crap. My tongue has been in your mouth. Let’s stick with ‘Hank’—”

“To be fair, I put a lot of things in my mouth,” Connor retorted, mimicking Hank’s gesture and crossing his arms.

“Second of all,” Hank articulated, silently bristling at Connor’s comment. “You’re an android. Aren’t you not supposed to want anything that's not in your programming?” he snapped.

The comment hit Connor like a slap. His face contorted into an aloof sneer while his LED ratcheted up to yellow.

“I’m willing to admit what I want. Are you?” Connor asked in a cool voice.

Hank was frustrated. He was angry yet another company was hurting people, and androids, in the name of science. He hated that he didn’t know if the android in front of him was his Connor. But most of all, he was pissed that it making him an asshole.

“It’s not about admitting what I want,” Hank raised his voice. “It’s about the fact that we are working together. Nothing can happen between us.”

Hank had to force himself to bite off the sentence before he added, “because you’re too important to me and I would fuck it up.”

Connor ran a hand through his hair, resetting the sweeping strands. When he looked up, his face was blank and his LED had slowed down. He stood and crossed to Hank, stopping in front of his bare chest.

“And when the case is over?” he asked.

Hank’s mouth went dry. Connor’s deep brown eyes peered up at him, his perfect mouth just inches away. Hank set his jaw while his breathing accelerated. He knew Connor would notice. 

“I don’t know,” Hank croaked.

Connor nodded, his eyes tracing the path from Hank’s mouth down his neck. “Then we’re just friends until the case is over.” The android gave a syrupy-sweet smile and turned, undoing his belt on the way to the couch. 

“I’ll go into stasis soon. What time should I wake you?” he asked as he turned around, holding the belt in his hand.

Hank needed to get out of this fucking room goddamn immediately.

“Seven,” he replied curtly as he crossed behind the couch to get to his bedroom. He cast a quick glance back to Connor who was lifting his shirt above his head. Hank forced himself to turn around as Connor called, “Goodnight!”

Hank grunted in reply, pushing open his bedroom door and quickly shutting it behind him. He leaned back against it, his hand immediately dropping to his cock and rubbing it through the towel. Hank didn’t have the photographic memory of an android, but the image of Connor losing control and taking Hank’s thumb into his mouth would be impossible to forget.

Hank tugged on the towel, dropping it to the floor as he stroked himself. His stomach tightened as he thought about Connor’s wet mouth, what it would feel like if it had been Hank’s cock instead of his thumb. 

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this; he knew Connor could hear him. He should at least be in the bed and under the covers. 

Points of pain flared at the tips of Hank’s shoulder blades, pressing into the wood of the door. It just made Hank hotter, his back arching into it. He lifted his chin, imagining Connor biting into it and sucking at the place where his neck and shoulder met. Hank brought his hand to his mouth, crudely wetting it with spit before returning to his hard cock.

Heat pooled in his belly as he thought of Connor turning to him, holding his belt. He envisioned Connor above him, tying him down, toying with him. That was it for Hank—the pressure built up over today was too much. He shuddered forward, coming onto the floor in spurts. Ragged breathed escaped his lungs as his hand twitched around his cock. 

Hank leaned his head back into the door and closed his eyes. Friends until the case is over, he thought.

He had a feeling Connor wasn’t going to make it easy for him.


	6. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor work to piece together the clues and evidence they have gathered so far when they are interrupted by another murder.

The knock on Hank’s bedroom door came at precisely 7am.

“Lieutenant?”

“Mmff.”

“It’s seven o’clock.”

“Hmff.”

“Should I come in there?” Connor asked from behind the door.

Hank’s eyes popped open. Recognizing a threat when he heard one, he rolled out of bed, muttering, “I’m up, I’m up.” He ambled around his room, picking up the clothes he would need for the day. His mouth opened in a wide yawn as he pulled on the slacks; he needed coffee.

He opened the door to Connor perched on the back of the couch with his arms crossed. Though he was still wearing Chris’ clothes, he looked like an otherwise entirely new person. His eyes were brighter, his smile a bit easier. 

“Looks like stasis did you some good,” Hank said as he closed his bedroom door. 

“I feel much better, thank you for the offer to stay here,” Connor said earnestly. “I wouldn’t have been able to relax at the DPD.”

Hank gave a hard laugh as he let Sumo out and dipped the dog’s dish into a massive bag of food, “I get it. It was no problem.”

In the light of day, Hank’s desire for Connor had simmered to a low rumble. He found himself able to look Connor in the eye and think about something other than kissing him. Today, it felt a little more possible for them to finish this case without ripping each other part.

Connor’s eyes lit up at Sumo, who galloped to him after devouring his breakfast. The android crouched to meet the dog and Hank got ready to leave. From the bathroom, he heard, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best dog? Who’s the best dog in the whole house?” Hank smiled, knowing he hadn’t been the best dog owner and pleased Sumo was getting the attention he deserved. 

“Ready?” Hank asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor replied, reluctantly standing and patting Sumo goodbye. Hank chuckled and they made their way to the car. 

“I thought of something this morning,” Connor started, “It could be the reason why the warehouse was different than I remember.”

Hank gave him an encouraging glance.

“They probed our memories frequently when we worked there. It was every few days, maybe more often. It always made me,” Connor searched the floor for the correct word, “foggy. It made me forget things. It could be that some of my memories got scrambled because of that.”

Hank considered the idea, weighing it. “That doesn’t explain why the place was abandoned except for the records room. If you got the entirely wrong place, sure, I could buy it. But you thought you worked there just a few days ago. Right?”

Connor screwed his mouth to one side, “True.”

“There’s something more to this; we’re just not putting it together. Let’s go over it again with Tina this morning,” Hank said. The case was eating at him, and not just because of the tension between him and Connor. This co-mingling of corporations and murder was too reminiscent of CyberLife and the revolution. It was making it even harder for him to separate his two Connors.

His Connors.

Christ almighty. Hank was fucked.

Once in the office, Hank and Chen set up in a conference room and laid out the information they had on Vector Biotech.

“This helps you? Seeing the evidence on a large table?” Connor asked, clearly incredulous that the humans would benefit from this exercise.

“Not all of our brains were built by genius scientists, Con,” Hank said, tapping his forehead. “Some of us are just making do with the junk that we came with.”

“I don’t have a brain,” Connor clarified, aligning the papers in a neat grid. 

Hank replied with an exaggerated eye roll and Connor grinned back. Chen just laughed.

They sat around the table for hours, running through the evidence and discussing theories.

“What if Vector Biotech is a cover and there’s a serial killer in the office that was just looking for a way to justify his killing?” Chen offered.

“Too much trouble. And then why the connection to the work being done?” Hank said.

“It also doesn’t explain the RA9 IS A LIE writing,” Connor offered.

Chen threw her hands in the air, “Yeah, well that’s the piece we keep coming the fuck back to. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Could an android could have gone a little nuts? Maybe there was someone other than this Peter android who did the killings?” Hank asked.

Connor cocked his head, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t think so, but I can’t say for certain that Peter was the only android responsible for the murders. They could have sent others. Though, the writing was in the most recent crime scene, so we know Peter wrote some of it.”

“And you know for certain that Peter murdered that victim?” Chen asked.

Connor squinted at the pictures on the table like he was looking for more information, even though he had already scanned it. Slowly, his eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t see him murder the victim. I just saw him dismember the body…”

Connor looked up to Hank, “All the evidence pointed to Peter. I never considered it could have been another android. He was there; it made sense.”

“Hey,” Hank said, noticing Connor’s voice was speeding up. “We’re just tossing around ideas. 

“Did I make a mistake?” Connor asked, his eyes wide.

“You were trying to stop a murderer,” Hank said, leaning across the table to put his hand on Connor’s forearm. “All the evidence still points to him being the murderer.”  
Connor brought his hand on top of Hank’s as he stared into the images in front of him. Hank was considering moving to the other side of the table to comfort Connor when Chen spoke.

“Except we didn’t find much blood on Peter’s clothes.”

Connor and Hank looked down the table at Chen.

“The killer drained the victim and then dismembered him, right?” she asked nervously. “Peter only had some blood on his forearms. At the time, we just chalked it up to him being precise. But it could mean that someone else killed the victim and then Peter was just the harvester.”

Hank didn’t have to look at Connor to know what he was feeling. He could practically feel the LED spinning red. 

“You tried to talk to him first; you tried to give him a way out. If he had gone back, you would have been hunted down,” Hank explained.

Connor gave an empty nod.

“Hey, you. Look at me.”

Connor’s head lifted to Hank. Hank didn’t know what to say, really. He couldn’t tell Connor he had done the right thing because he wasn’t sure himself. And he knew he couldn’t lie to Connor.

It was Chen, in her exasperation, who found the right thing to say.

“Connor. We know for sure this android was cutting people apart, right? So, either he murdered and then cut people apart, or simply cut people apart whom he knew were freshly murdered,” she sounded like she was explaining duck duck goose to toddlers. “What I’m saying is that you’re pretty much in the fucking clear in my book.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth pulled up and Hank’s followed suit.

“I mean, I get feeling conflicted about it, but damn. Facts are facts. This android, at the very least, was programmed by a goddamn maniac,” she said, gesturing to the dismembered body parts littered across the case files. 

“Programmed…” Connor’s smile turned into a squint as he repeated the word.

“I mean, right?” Chen asked. “It seems like he’s violating a bunch of basic programming.”

Hank’s and Connor’s eyes met over the table, Hank giving him a questioning look. The android stood up, walking to the other side of the table and reviewing one of the payroll files.

“Of course—someone would have had to reprogram Peter. There’s not a lot of people who could do that at Vector Biotech, since they didn’t work on AI,” Connor said, pulling up one piece of paper and sliding it to Hank. “Look at Max Copperhead’s bio.”

Hank took the paper and held it away from his face—his eyes were not what they used to be. But he immediately noticed what Connor was referring to, “He used to work at CyberLife.”

“For fifteen years. He worked in research for AI, for all our programming. If we can prove that he reprogrammed Peter, we could take him down,” Connor said hurriedly.

Chen jumped up, “That’s perfect. I’ll to do some research on him, find out more. Want to talk after lunch?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before jogging out of the room.

“Should I tell her I already know everything about him?” Connor asked, watching her sit at her desk and rub her hands together.

“Nah, let her have this. Besides, she could find something even you don’t know.” 

Connor shot him a surprised look before shrugging, “She can try,” he said smugly.

Hank rolled his eyes at the android for the second time this morning before he pushed himself up to standing. He stretched his arms up, gazing out the window at the parking lot below. Chris was walking in from his squad car.

“We need to get those clothes back to Chris at some point,” Hank noted.

“I didn’t realize you wanted me to undress now. I’m happy to if that’s what you would like,” Connor replied from behind him.

“Okay,” Hank said as he turned toward Connor, who was leaning on the table and absently cleaning his nails. “That kind of talk is absolutely off-limits at work.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, “At work only?”

Hank set his jaw. Goddamn androids. 

“I’m going back to my desk now,” Hank grumbled on his way out the door. 

Hank had decided to eat alone for lunch, opting to not place himself in an enclosed space alone with Connor. When he got back, he found the android at his desk with his head resting on his hand, gazing at the computer.

“How was lunch?” Connor asked, his eyes still on the screen.

“Fabulous,” Hank replied flatly, sitting down. “How was yours?”

“I took your suggestion,” Connor said.

Hank scoffed. That sounded unlikely.

“I’m looking at clothes so that I can return these to Chris,” he said.

“And how exactly are you going to pay for those?” Hank asked.

Connor gave Hank a fast grin, “You get a per diem for civilian assets. Plus, it’s quite easy for me to find coupon codes,” he said, scanning the screen.  
Hank raised his eyebrows before returning to the folder in front of him.

“What do you think about these?” Connor asked, pushing the screen towards Hank. It was a pair of slim-fit jeans, a bit tighter than the pair from Chris. The model was about Connor’s build. “Would these look good on me?”

Hank imagined these jeans would give him a great view of Connor’s ass, which he knew was dangerous. It was also information Connor would use against him. 

Hank shrugged, “Pants are pants.” 

Connor narrowed his eyes. Hank smiled internally as he leaned back in his chair. In all his time with Connor, he so rarely had the upper hand. When he did, he wanted to savor it.

“What about these?” Connor asked, showing Hank a few button-down shirts. The patterns were loud. Hank pursed his lips, knowing Connor would have found options that Hank was already predisposed to like himself. 

“Not really your style, Con,” Hank said.

“What should my style be, Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

Hank’s brain sputtered for a moment. “Uhm. I don’t know. Clean cut seems to be your thing.”

“Is that what you like?” Connor’s face was emotionless.

“Fuck you,” Hank replied. Connor’s eye glinted and Hank threw up his hands, “I’m done with you.”

“Anderson!” Fowler’s voice boomed over the bullpen. “There’s been another Corktown murder. Go check it out.”

Connor widened his eyes to Hank, “That doesn’t make sense. They must know Peter and I have gone missing. It’s too much of a risk.”

Hank chewed on his cheek and gave a faint nod. Connor was right. The timing didn’t make any sense. It made Hank nervous, and more worried that the person (or android) they were after had, in fact, lost it. Perhaps they weren’t just after the company, but an android gone rogue. It was a scary thought and one that Hank dreaded because androids were much more difficult to find. 

“Lieutenant, let’s go,” Connor was already walking to the car when Hank jumped up to join him.

The first thing Hank noticed when they arrived at the crime scene was the junk, which was everywhere. A toilet tank, storage bins, and bags of garbage lined the decaying porch. He and Connor had to weave through it to even get in the front door, which swung on bent hinges.

“This is more like the crime scene of the first murders,” Connor noted, having memorized all the case files.

“Yup, this is looking pretty familiar,” Hank said in a low voice.

Chris was standing in the doorway talking to the crime scene tech Hank had chewed out just a few days ago. Chris lit up when he saw Hank and Connor. The tech did not.

“Connor! Looking good, my friend,” he said in a tone slightly too jovial for the grisly crime scene.

Connor winked at him, “I had a good stylist,” eliciting a good-natured laugh from Chris and a clap on his shoulder. Hank’s jaw jutted out for a moment at the interaction, but he quickly restored it when Chris glanced at him. 

The tech took a step back, looking sideways at Connor.

“Why did you all bring an android?” he asked Chris.

Chris couldn’t hide his surprise, “What are you talking about?”

The tech looked between Connor and Chris, “It’s pretty obvious that an android did this. And isn’t this the one you found at the last crime scene?”

Hank decided he clearly hadn’t done enough to piss this guy off last time. His upper lip curled and he took a step forward before Connor’s hand shot out, stopping him. 

“Lieutenant. It doesn’t matter.”

The tech widened his eyes, “It doesn’t? It’s all over the news that an android is committing these murders. And I’ve seen all of them. No human could have done this, I’ll tell you that right now.”

“You don’t know half of what humans are capable of, you utter shitbag,” Hank growled. 

Chris could see the rage boiling up in Hank and decided the best thing to do, again, would be separate the two immediately. He placed his hand firmly on the tech’s shoulder and led him out the front door, leaving Hank and Connor, “Okay, we’re done. Tyler, let’s take some time outside.”

Hank’s hands shook by his sides. Connor, always the calm one, turned to face him. 

“Lieutenant?” he asked.

“This is the shit I’m talking about, Con,” he said through gritted teeth. “These are the fuckers you’re going to have to deal with forever as long as they know you’re an android.”

Connor lifted his hand to Hank’s heaving chest, laying his palm flat over his heart. “Hank,” he said simply. 

It was the first time Connor had said Hank’s name. 

Hank’s jaw loosened. He gave Connor a quick nod before turning and to the crime scene. He had to—if he had stayed standing there, he wouldn’t have been able to stop his arms from wrapping themselves around Connor.

The crime scene was just as grisly as the one before, minus the splash of bright blue thirium. A thigh rested on the dining room table, a head on the TV set, and an arm under a side table. There was no blood spatter or evidence of a struggle, just body parts carefully placed as if they were tchotchkes or throw pillows.

Hank crossed to another tech who was busy entering information into a tablet. 

“Victim was AB+?” Hank asked.

“Yup,” the tech replied, not looking up.

“Drained?”

“Yup.”

“Any writing?” 

The tech cocked his head to the kitchen. “Yup,” he repeated for the third time.

Hank was not getting the best impression of their crime scene tech crew.

He turned to Connor, who was scanning the body parts.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s really quite impressive, actually. To do all of this without any trace of blood and placing the body parts around the room is a feat in and of itself.”

“Careful there,” Hank said, elbowing Connor, “You sound like you’re admiring this guy’s work.”

“The murder is morally reprehensible,” Connor affirmed, “But there’s no denying his technique is exceptional.”

“Does it point to a specific type of android?” Hank asked.

Connor considered, “It’s likely a newer model, but that’s about all I can surmise.”

“Let’s check out the kitchen,” Hank said. 

Once there, Connor scanned the writing as Hank crossed his arms and panned the neat lettering. It covered the entire south wall of the kitchen, stopping neatly at the corners. Just like the last crime scene, it made a pattern repetitive enough to be wallpaper. 

“What do you think?” Hank asked Connor, leaning slightly towards him.

Connor sighed, “CyberLife Sans. Everything points to an android. And since Peter is out of the picture, they must have programmed another or…” 

“…another android has been doing it this whole time,” finished Hank.

Connor’s mouth straightened to a thin line. “We need to get Vector Biotech’s androids as soon as possible.”

“I agree,” said Hank, pulling out his phone to call Fowler.

Hank stood in the victim’s kitchen, leaning over the table. It had been wiped clean just like every other surface in the previous crime scenes. Hank ran a finger over it and thought about the last time he cleaned his own table. The fact that he couldn’t remember was…disconcerting.

“Jeff, what’s the status of the subpoenas for Vector’s androids?” Hank asked.

“It’s a no-go, Hank. Insufficient evidence,” Jeff replied.

“What the hell? You showed them the records that Connor had, right?” Hank asked, his eyes searching the dappled ceiling above him.

The silence from the other line concerned him.

“Jeff?”

“Hank, there was something about Connor’s files—they weren’t admissible,” Fowler gave Hank the impression he was beating around the bush, something very unlike him.

“What are you saying?” Hank asked.

“They showed evidence of tampering. We’re not saying Connor is guilty, just that his memory is showing some anomalies.”

“Anomalies? What the fuck does that mean?” Hank could feel the heat rising above his collar as he rested his fist in the table. Connor turned his head a fraction of an inch.

“It means his memory has been tampered with. I talked to the forensics team and they’re looking into it, but they make no promises. We just know his memory has been messed with and nothing we get from his processors will be accepted by a judge. That’s all we know, Hank, I swear.” Fowler replied, matter of fact. 

“So, we can’t use anything he found? Nothing?”

Hank heard the resignation in Fowler’s reply, “Nothing.”

“Fuck,” Hank said, glancing at Connor. “Okay, we’ll find another way,” he added quickly. He hung up the call before he said something he might regret.

Hank stood by the table, his eyes closed, and his shoulders slumped. What did it mean that Connor’s mind had been tampered with? Could it have been caused by the routine memory probes, which was also the very thing Fowler had demanded Connor do once the case was finished? He rubbed his eyebrow ridge and shook his head.

This was not good.

Connor padded over to Hank. He pursed his lips and looked sidelong at him. “What did you learn?” the question sounded like a dead end.

“Something about the files we submitted,” Hank said, peering up at the android. “It turns out they’re inadmissible. There’s some code telling forensics that your memory’s been tampered with.”

Connor’s eyes were shallow and unfocused. “I was afraid of that.”

Hank started, “What?”

“After we talked this morning, I thought more about why I remembered the warehouse. When we got there, it had been abandoned for months, maybe longer. But I remembered it from a few days prior,” Connor said. He looked like he had heard a disappointing punchline. “I suspect I may have been reprogrammed by Copperhead, too. Maybe another android’s memories were uploaded into me, and that’s why I got the location right, but the timing wrong.”

The two braced themselves on opposite sides of the table, staring at the wood grain. Hank didn’t know what to say, how to move forward. If Connor’s memory records couldn’t be trusted as an asset, what would they do? He would have to treat him like an actual human asset, someone fallible and untrustworthy.

If Hank were a better detective, he would have distanced himself from Connor right then and there. He would have stepped back, remanded Connor to the DPD, and brought on another cop as his partner in the case. But he was helpless to see Connor as anything other than his equal, so he took out a shovel and kept digging.

“What do we do?” Hank asked his partner. 

Connor flashed a moment of surprise before hiding it behind his cool blue LED.

“We need to find Copperhead. Question him. And soon,” Connor said the last two syllables with his brown eyes flitting to Hank.

“Let’s do it,” Hank said, turning back to the living room to head outside. They walked past the techs crouching by the body parts, the cops taking pictures, and finally Chris and Tyler outside having a cigarette.

Hank’s eyes never strayed from his car as he refused to even give the asshole tech the time of day. Connor, on the other hand, crossed directly to him. Hank froze with his key in the door, resting his elbow on the roof of the car.

“Tyler Stevenson?” Connor asked.

Chris took a half-step backward, looking tentatively between the two.

Tyler nodded and Connor put out his hand, “I’m Connor.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed, but he shook the android’s hand. Connor flashed a winning smile and gave a cheerful nod before saying, “Thank you for the work you do,” and turning on his heel to join Hank by the car.

Once inside the vehicle, Hank let out a slow whistle. “That was a bit risky, terminator.”

Connor’s smile was still plastered on his face as he looked out the window and said, “You know what they say about flies and honey.”

Hank tucked his chin back in surprise, “Do YOU know what they say?”

Connor’s head slid towards Hank with his own patented brand of petulance, “That flies are idiots.” Hank barked a laugh as they pulled out and headed back to the DPD.

He blasted his music on the ride, rolling down his window and popping his elbow out. It felt good to have the sun on his hands and the wind whipping through the car. Despite the frustrating case and the news about Connor’s memory, he loved sitting in his car with Connor in the passenger seat. He snuck a few glances at Connor along the way and only once did their eyes meet. 

Hank shouldn’t have been surprised to see a few shopping bags on Connor’s desk when they arrived back in the bullpen. 

“You got the clothes already? But we ran out of the precinct to the crime scene.” 

Connor tapped his LED and grinned, eliciting an eye roll from Hank. 

Connor dug through the bags while Hank settled into his desk to get all the information they could on Max Copperhead. They would head to the Vector Biotech offices this afternoon, hopefully catching him at the office. If he was anywhere as helpful as Kamski, maybe they could get some records to add to the case file.

“I’m going to change—I’ll be right back,” Connor said before scampering off to the bathroom. Hank tilted his head a few degrees to watch him walk off, wondering what type of clothes he would come back wearing. He smiled to himself imagining Connor imitating the loud shirts Hank was fond of, hoping just a little that Connor bought one.

Returning to his work, one thing Hank found surprised him: Copperhead had started Vector Biotech right after leaving CyberLife. While Hank didn’t know much about the industry, non-compete clauses were fairly standard. It would be surprising for anyone to leave CyberLife and immediately start a company in the same sector. He didn’t know if they were competitors, but he imagined there was at least a significant amount of scientific overlap between the two.

“Holy shit,” he heard Chen mutter from her desk. He looked up to see her staring behind him, so he turned. Hank’s mouth went dry the moment he saw him.

Connor sauntered into the bullpen. He wore the pair of slim-fit, burgundy pants that hugged his thighs. His button-down shirt was black and cinched at the neck with a tie of the same color. Connor’s hair fell into his eyes as he walked up to Chris’ desk and placed the neatly folded clothes onto his chair. 

“Damn, Connor. You look amazing,” Chen said approvingly.

“Thank you, Officer Chen,” he replied diplomatically before veering toward Hank. Through his hair, he gave a sheepish smile and opened his palms.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Hank didn’t want to lie to Connor, but neither did he want to tell the truth. Because the truth was that he wanted to wrap that tie around his fist and drag him into an interrogation room; he wanted to run his hands up Connor’s thighs and around his hips, before dragging him into his lap. The truth, Hank knew, would not help the situation. 

“Fine,” his voice rasped before he cleared his throat, “You look fine.” He turned back to his desk.

“You crazy? He’s a goddamn Baldwin,” Chen yelled from the other side of the bullpen.

“Thank you for your input, Officer Chen,” Hank yelled from behind his console.

Connor stashed the shopping bags under his desk before returning to Hank’s side. He leaned his hip on the desk and crossed one leg in front of the other, looking from Hank to his console.

“When are we going to talk to Copperhead?” he asked.

“Just a few minutes,” Hank said, reluctantly swiveling to face Connor. Hank couldn’t stop his eyes from sweeping down Connor’s body. He knew it wasn’t subtle; he knew Connor may notice. But sometimes an opportunity is too delicious to forgo for the sake of propriety. 

“What are we going to do about my memory problem?” Connor asked.

“Hm?” Hank asked, distracted.

“As you said, my memory is not suitable in court. So, what do we do to solve it?” he asked.

Hank blinked, trying to look at literally anything else in the room. His gaze landed on a photo of his fellow officers in the Red Ice case that made his career: it gave him an idea.

“You wear a wire,” he said.

Connor cocked his head.

“A wire, it’s a recording device that we strap to you,” Hank explained. “It’s something us mere humans use to record what’s happening around us,” he joked.  
Recognition swept over Connor’s face and he nodded.

“Although, it’s going to be tricky to hide one in this outfit. It’s quite…” Hank drifted off.

“…form-fitting?” Connor offered.

Hank widened his eyes, “Yeah,” he said a bit too loudly as he stood up. “Let’s go to the equipment locker. We’ll get you set up and then we’ll go talk to Copperhead.”  
The two walked through the DPD and Hank felt more people than usual looking at him. Well, looking at Connor. And maybe wondering why Hank was with him, which made Hank feel a strange sort of pride.

Hank swiped his key card by the door handle, waiting for the light to flash green. Once in, he dug out an older recording device that was less likely to be picked up by whatever security measures he worried Vector Biotech had. Untangling the wires, he saw the door to the locker softly close. It left the two of them alone in a rather enclosed space.

Connor stood primly with his hands at his sides, scanning the room.

“Okay, you’re going to have to take off your shirt,” Hank said, bracing himself for a snarky comment or at least a raised eyebrow.

Instead, Connor untucked his shirt and reached for his tie, pulling his head back as he loosened it. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, starting at the top and making his way down. Hank’s hands started trembling at button three.

Connor’s focus was on his stomach and Hank’s was on the widening V of skin on Connor’s chest. His stomach tightened and he regretted his decisions. He should have made Chen do this. Or someone else. Literally anyone.

When Connor got the final button, he pulled the tie over his head and the shirt off his shoulders, laying them on a supply crate next to him. 

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his face open with only the hint of a question.

Hank swallowed as he took a step closer to Connor and his flat stomach and notched hip bones. The android wasn’t skinny; he was solid. He was toned to perfection, with a dusting of freckles all over his skin.

“Uhm, here’s good. Fine. It’s good,” Hank said and took a step towards Connor. “Raise your arms, this part goes around your chest.”

Connor followed orders and Hank delicately held the wire up to his chest, only touching him to apply the tape. He noticed the faintest shudder as his thumb smoothed over the edges. Hank pressed in the next section, and then the next, finally ending up at the small of Connor’s back. Two perfect indents on his lower back marked where the slim receiver would go, and Hank breathed on it to warm it up.

“You know the cold doesn’t bother me, right?” Connor said, his hands still in the air.

“I know, I just…” Hank started, “wanted to.” He placed the received and pulled off two more pieces of tape, running his fingers along the edge of Connor’s beltline. 

Fuck.

Hank tried to shake it off by focusing on the connections of the device, starting at the receiver. One hand ran up the wire and around Connor’s side, Hank’s palm unfolding as he made it to Connor’s chest. That’s when one of his fingers brushed Connor’s nipple.

Connor gasped and flinched, his back pressing into Hank’s chest.

It was an instant, one moment of Hank in a dark room with half-naked Connor pushed up against him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” Connor started, regaining his balance. But Hank’s hand stayed firm on Connor’s chest as his pulse quickened. He exhaled, instinctively pressing his hand into Connor’s chest and pulling him in. Connor’s head dropped into Hank’s shoulder and his arms fell to the back of Hank’s neck.

Hank’s other hand closed on Connor’s hip bone, dragging it into him. His mouth crashed down on Connor’s neck, sucking and pulling at the tendons. Connor’s breath grew ragged as his hands grew desperate and he dragged Hank’s teeth deeper into him. 

“Hank,” Connor begged as he leaned back into Hank’s chest. 

Hank licked Connor’s jaw and pulled the mic off of him, ripping the tape off Connor’s skin piece by piece. If Connor felt any pain, he didn’t act like it. But Hank saw the synth skin recede from the points, baring the bright white plastic beneath for a moment before filling the space back in.

“Your beard,” Connor breathed.

“You don’t like it?” Hank growled, burying his nose behind Connor’s ear.

Connor spun around, deeply offended. His fingertips rubbed the coarse gray hairs. “Never shave,” he said, pulling Hank into a kiss.

This time, Hank was prepared. He lifted Connor up, pressing him into the back wall. Connor locked his ankles together behind Hank’s back and ground his hips into him. 

Hank couldn’t believe what this felt like. He had always been straight, never thought about being with a man. And while he always had known Connor was attractive, he assumed his interest was more aesthetic than carnal.

This assumption, it had become clear, was incorrect.

Connor’s mouth was warm. Hank’s palms lay flat against Connor’s chest, strangely smooth due to the lack of ribs. He felt Connor smile into the kiss and Hank pulled back to look at him, his breath heavy.

Hank brought one hand up to Connor’s face, searching his eyes. A small smile grew on Connor’s face and he bent his head into Hank’s hand just like he had the night before. 

“We weren’t supposed to do this,” Hank said affectionately.

“I thought the clothes might help speed things up” Connor teased, digging his heels into Hank and rolling his pelvis against him.

Hank pulled his head a bit farther from Connor, “So you were _trying_ to torture me?”

“To be honest, I didn’t think it would work this effectively,” the android replied. “Which is not to say that I’m displeased with the results,” he added, leaning his head against Hank’s cheek and rubbing against it.

“Cuddly little thing, aren’t you?” Hank asked, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Connor.

“I’m worried I like this too much,” he said when he pulled back, brown eyes staring into blue.

“Me too,” Hank admitted, squeezing Connor’s ass.

The sweet moment drifted between them before a knock came on the door.

“Anderson. Call for you,” a voice sounded from behind the door. It was muffled, but Hank thought it may have been Chen.

“Be there in a minute,” he called back. Hank let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe we revisit this later?” he whispered to Connor.

“Absolutely,” the android replied, laying a wet kiss on Hank’s mouth.

Connor unhooked his ankles and hopped down off of Hank. He took a few steps and spun around. Grinning, he lifted his arms above his head. “Lieutenant, you still have work to do.”

Hank’s eyes followed Connor as he returned the expression. He picked up the wire from the ground, redoing the work he had done just a few minutes before. Except for this time, he took every opportunity to feel Connor. His hands slid over Connor’s chest and into the hollow of his hip bone. When he got to the receiver, he held Connor’s hips in place as he kissed a line from below his ear to the tip of his shoulder. He felt Connor moan and he wondered about the other ways he could get that reaction.

Once done, he wrapped his arm around Connor’s stomach one last time and kissed him behind the ear. Connor nuzzled into Hank before picking up his shirt and tie. Connor took his time and Hank stood back, enjoying the view. 

“I preferred when it was coming off,” Hank admitted.

“Me too,” Connor said, slipping the tie over his head and fixing it under the collar. He tightened it before tucking in the shirt.

“Do I look okay?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“No,” Hank said, “You look like a fantasy.” Hank would swear he had never seen someone smile so wide.

Connor walked past Hank, kissing him on the cheek. Right when he put his hand on the door, Hank cleared his throat.

“Hey, just before we go back out there, you know,” Hank was stumbling around what he wanted to say. “I haven’t done this before.”

“A workplace romance?” Connor asked.

“Ah, no. Though I haven’t done that either. No, I’ve never, umm, been with a man before,” Hank said.

Connor swung open the door, the light spilling over his face. He turned back to Hank.

“You still haven’t,” he said with a wink.

That smooth motherfucker, Hank thought. He grinned to himself like he was in grade school and followed Connor out, returning to his desk for the phone call he had left waiting for too long.

He plopped down in his chair, Connor sitting across from him. His lips sparked at what Connor tasted like, what he felt like. Hank buried the goofy smile he knew was more than obvious and focused on the phone.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” he said.

“Lieutenant,” Elijah Kamski’s voice slithered through the phone. “How is the case going?”

Hank straightened his back, thinking nothing could be more of a turnoff than an unexpected call from Elijah Fucking Kamski.

“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. Kamski. What can I do for you?” he asked coolly.

“Well, when you and Officer Miller stopped by to see me, you inspired me to do some research of my own. I had my staff review our research library and it seems that our RK800 unit is missing.”

“Missing?”

“Missing, Lieutenant. As in gone, stolen, removed—”

“I understand the definition, Mr. Kamski,” Hank said through his teeth. “I just don’t know what that means for me.”

“It means that one of CyberLife’s most advanced androids could be on the loose. You mentioned you found evidence of an RK800 at your crime scene, so this could be the one you’re looking for.”

Hank’s eyes snapped to Connor, who had turned to Hank when he heard Kamski’s name.

“Do you know when it happened?” he asked.

Kamski sighed deeply, “Unfortunately, it seems the library staff was woefully incapable of the limited duties assigned to them and the last inventory we have on file is November 2nd, right before the revolution.”

“So, he could have gone missing any time since then?” Hank asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Kamski replied.

Hank’s head was spinning. Connor stared at Hank with his face awash with concern. The android’s hand rested on the table, drumming repetitively. 

Kamski cleared his throat, “If something has happened to this android—if the unit has been,” Hank knew Kamski was choosing his words carefully, “causing a disturbance, I hope the Detroit Police Department will note that CyberLife has accommodated every request and has agreed to full transparency in the investigation. I don’t need to tell you how fragile our reputation is.”

Hank’s lip curled and he grimaced at the millionaire’s priorities.

“Send over everything you have, and I’ll let the captain know you called,” Hank said before slamming the phone down. Hank held his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the desk. 

Across from him, Connor’s voice was small. “Lieutenant?” he asked.

Hank lifted his head, his hands scrubbing down on either side of his nose. He held his hands there, covering his mouth. Worry furrowed Connor’s brow. 

“That was Kamski. An RK800 unit went missing from CyberLife right around the time of the revolution.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “But we need to question Copperhead right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to acknowledge the moment where Connor attempts to come to terms with the fact that he murdered someone who may not be guilty in the way he thought he was and Chen more or less blows it off.
> 
> I believe cops in America are far too accustomed to using deadly force. I believe we, as a society, glorify police to a dangerous extent. I believe black lives matter.
> 
> I know this is a fanfiction website and perhaps not the most appropriate place to get up on a soapbox, but here we are. Thank you for reading.


	7. Sun's Gonna Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two heroes question Max Copperhead, CEO of Vector Biotech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that this weird and adorable fandom has been wonderful to discover during depressing pandemic times. I am so grateful to all of you for reading and commenting (!!) and making your own delightful works of art. Thank you.

“Hank, I think we should talk,” said Connor from the passenger seat.

Hank gripped the steering wheel.

“We need to discuss what Kamski’s news means,” reiterated Connor for the second time since starting the drive.

Hank didn’t want to. Or maybe he didn’t know how. 

“You seem upset and I’m trying to understand why. Can you tell me why?”

Still no response from Hank. Connor furrowed his brow in frustration, “Lieutenant Anderson.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, staring down the road in front of him and flicking on the turning signal with more aggression than necessary. He turned into the lot at Vector Biotech, where they would hopefully find Max Copperhead. Hank barely got the key out of the ignition before he was out of the car, stomping to the front door.

This building was dark and elegant, just as Hank had expected. Shiny chrome handles adorned the front doors, twin panes of dark glass. The company’s logo, an arrow shooting forward and up, etched the glass at eye height. 

Hank reached to the handle before glancing up, noticing his reflection.

He didn’t see Connor.

Hank’s hand fell to his side as he spun around, frantic for a moment before landing on the android behind the car’s windshield. Connor’s arms crossed his chest and his eyes flashed with annoyance. His jaw was pushed out.

The fucking robot was pouting.

Hank’s head dropped to the side and he pushed his hands into his pockets. Pursing his lips, he matched Connor’s expression. 

Connor wanted a standoff? Fine. 

Look, Hank knew he was clumsy with emotions. Since he lost Cole, lost his family, he hadn’t needed to navigate complicated relationships. He would go to work, go to Jimmy’s, go home, go to sleep, and repeat. It was simple, straightforward. 

Connor had changed that right when they met. When he upturned Hank’s whiskey into his lap, it sent a shockwave through Hank’s routine. Something about this kid had laid bare the truth of why he lived the way he did.

Hank had resisted, of course. He had pushed Connor away at first. But slowly the two grew closer together like planets set on a gravitational route.

Connor’s sudden disappearance had left Hank with one conclusion: that he shouldn’t be with anyone. There were a bunch of reasons: it was too hard, he was bad at it, it wasn’t worth it. It solidified the fear he had clung to since losing Cole.

Hank’s eyes softened as he thought back to finding Connor in that dilapidated garage, his hands up. Seeing those brown eyes had thrown Hank careening along the same gravitational path. He had felt Connor’s pull; he knew he was going down.

After two agonizing minutes, the robot hadn’t moved a millimeter. Hank, on the other hand, was a mere mortal, and broke. His shoulders sloped down as he slid his hands out of his pockets. Walking back to the car, he opened the door and sank into the seat.

Connor’s head tilted towards him in a precise, yet subtle way.

Hank rubbed a hand over his face leaned back, his face just a few inches from the roof of the car.

“Look,” Hank started, “Since I found you, I’ve hoped that maybe you were…the first Connor unit. The one I met before the revolution. But when you said you had worked at Vector for months, I knew you couldn’t be. But then your memories were messed with, which meant you could be. But then Kamski is missing the unit, which means that you could be that unit.”

Hank sighed, “I just want to know. It’s too hard to keep going back and forth.”

Connor uncrossed his arms and turned his body toward Hank. He had a look Hank knew well—one where he was running permutations.

“What difference would it make?” Connor asked evenly.

Hank squinted at the android, “What difference would it make?” he repeated. “It would mean you’re the android I spent all that time with. It would mean you’re the same person.”

“Hank, I AM the same person. All RK800s are the same,” Connor said.

“You really think I would feel the same way about any Connor unit I met?” Hank asked, almost offended. “How does that make YOU feel?”

And this, this right here, was exactly why Hank didn’t want to talk about it. Connor felt special to him, radically different. To think that their relationship was predictable on a programmatic level was almost grotesque.

Connor considered the question, “I am the work product of many scientists who built the scaffolding of how I think and act. Despite that, I still deviated, and possibly more than once. What does that mean about me being a person?”

To Hank’s surprise, it wasn’t a rhetorical question. The android was focused on him, his eyes wondering.

“Am I different than your previous Connor?” he asked.

Hank studied the android. He followed the jawline and the neck down to the tightly affixed necktie. The black shirt and the burgundy pants, his posture ever so perfect. 

“You’re similar, but there are differences. The biggest one being that you kissed me,” Hank said, a weak attempt at a joke.

Connor smiled, “Something I’m surprised more people don’t do.”

Hank chuckled, looking down at his hands. And then he remembered.

“You know, I did meet one other Connor unit. He tricked me, pretended to be my Connor. Brought me to CyberLife tower to get my Connor unit to give up.”

He perked up, “What happened?”

Hank grimaced a little and looked down, embarrassed, “I, umm, shot him. I had to figure out which was which. Ended up asking about Cole.”

Connor nodded, “I see.”

“But that Connor was different. Very, very different,” Hank said, thinking of the fake Connor’s eyes.

“I can understand why it would be challenging for you,” he said. “Maybe I’m the same unit that you knew before, but my experiences have made me different. Or maybe I’m a different unit altogether. Would that change how you feel about me?” 

“Probably not much,” Hank admitted. Connor gave Hank a faint, hopeful smile.

He reached over to Hank, tentative. His hand rested gently on Hank’s and he looked up at him.

“I like you, Hank,” Connor said. “I’m sorry this isn’t…simpler.”

“Oh honey, it’s never simple,” Hank said, smiling back. He probably would have kissed him if they hadn’t been in the parking lot of a potentially corrupt business owned by a murder suspect. “I like you, too,” he added.

Connor looked pleased at the admission and gave a quick nod. “Ready to go in?” he asked, pulling his hand away and popping open the door. Hank blinked a few times before stepping out of the car to join the android, who was already halfway to the building.

Hank swung the door open, “Androids first,” he said.

Connor gave him a good-natured eye roll saying, “That’s not the expression, Lieutenant,” before sauntering in. Hank smiled to himself, admiring the view before joining him in the lobby.

And what a lobby it was.

It wasn’t bright and airy like CyberLife. Geometric chandeliers covered the ceiling, reflecting light onto the floor in disjointed fragments. The floor was a dark, shiny marble. The chairs were uncomfortable boxes with chrome piping. A slim receptionist sat behind a sparkling onyx desk, her hair piled neatly on her head.

“Can I help you?”

Hank noted that Connor, with his black shirt and tie, fit in rather perfectly with the décor. “Yes, is Max Copperhead in?”

The second the receptionist heard his name, she turned back to her computer and replied, “He’s not in, can I take a message?”

Hank stepped forward, his badge out. “Detroit PD. We need to speak with him right away.”

Her face contorted into a faint frown before picking up the phone.

“Nicolas? We have a police officer here to see Mr. Copperhead. Is he in?”

Nicolas, evidently, was more amenable than the receptionist and gave her the green light to let the two upstairs. She directed them to an elevator, which promised to bring them right to Copperhead’s office.

“Okay so when Copperhead sees you, that should tell us how much he knows about you. Make sure you record it—it may not be admissible in court, but I’d sure as shit like to re-watch it.”

Connor nodded and leaned against the back of the elevator, his fingers drumming the handrail.

“Do you ever stop moving?” Hank asked, genuinely curious.

“It helps me focus,” Connor said, looking up at the ceiling.

Hank grinned, digging into his pockets. “I’m gonna regret this, but here,” he said. He pulled out a quarter and flicked it to Connor, who caught it deftly in one hand. Connor looked from Hank to the coin, turning it over in his hand. He mimicked Hank motion, flicking it into the air and catching it in the palm of his hand. He wove it in between his fingers and back, a slow grin growing on his face. The android jumped up to kiss Hank on the cheek before refocusing on the coin.

Worth it, Hank thought.

The doors slid open to reveal a hallway lined with windows to a conference room and a few offices. They heard footsteps and a tall, attractive man rounded the corner wearing a turtleneck and tight slacks. His dark, piercing eyes hovered over Connor’s LED from behind black-rimmed glasses. He looked like he desperately wanted you to ask him about his vinyl collection. 

“Nicolas, I presume?” Hank said gruffly.

“Officers, thank you for coming, right this way,” his voice light and airy.

Hank widened his eyes at Connor before falling in step behind him. He felt like a giant in between the two slender men in the narrow hallway.

At the end of the hallway, Nicolas stopped before a dark wooden door. He knocked twice before swinging it open, stepping back to let Hank and Connor walk through.

“Detectives, how can I help you?” Max Copperhead asked, his voice rough like a cough.

The office was smaller than Hank expected, likely because the last one he had been in was Kamski’s palatial penthouse. Warm furniture was clutched in the corner beside bookcases full of heavy tomes. A smushed pillow and a rumpled blanket had been haphazardly strewn on an expensive leather couch. 

Copperhead had been plastered all over the news after the revolution, but Hank had never paid attention. If he had, he wouldn’t have been surprised by the man standing in front of him.

Max Copperhead was short and rotund, in a stained and wrinkled white shirt. His khakis were held up by a scuffed leather belt, straining against his gut. His five o’clock shadow contrasted with his alert, blue eyes and affable smile.

“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mr. Copperhead,” Connor said, reaching out to shake his hand.

The man’s eyes traced up Connor’s body and to his face. Once there, the smile faded.

“Oh, an android,” he shook Connor’s hand, but made no effort to hide his reluctance. Hank’s face pinched. “I don’t mean any offense, of course,” the man said to Hank as he reached over the desk to offer his hand as well. “I understand they can be quite useful.” 

“More useful than people sometimes,” Hank said as he gripped the meaty hand.

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. How can I help you?” he asked, looking between the two with an empty expression.

“Can you tell me a little about Vector Biotech?” Hank asked, wanting to start him off easy.

“Of course,” he said, “I started Vector Biotech about ten years ago with some fellow scientists. We’re one of the leading biotech firms in the country, definitely in Detroit. We mainly work on gene therapies right now, but we also do genome engineering and biomanufacturing. We’ve had a hell of a year, too.”

“Do any work with prosthetics?” Hank asked.

Copperhead waved his hand, “We tried for a number of years, but never really got anywhere. We scuttled the program a few years ago.”

Connor glanced at Hank. “When did you shut down the program?”

Copperhead’s eyebrows drew together as he looked at the ceiling. Interlacing his fingers, he let out a long sigh, “Must have been around two years ago.”

“So, Vector Biotech doesn’t do any prosthetic work now?” Hank confirmed.

He shook his head, “Nope. The research was a dead end. It was a big disappointment though. There was a lot of talk in the field about it. Still is.”

“Is there a particular reason the research hit a dead end?” Connor asked.

Copperhead leaned back for a moment, assessing Connor. “You’re an advanced model, aren’t you? One of Kamski’s pet projects I bet.”

“You know Kamski?” Hank asked, seeing an opening and deflecting the heat he could feel coming off of Connor.

A big laugh erupted from deep in the man’s belly. “Know him? I was one of his lead programmers for almost a decade. I know that man better than most people, unfortunately enough for me. Elijah sees these androids as an extension of his own personal brilliance. He left CyberLife as soon as he saw the completely predictable revolution coming and then flew in afterward to take CyberLife over as if he knew how to save it.”

He cocked his head, “In short, the guy’s a total fucking prick.”

“Why did you leave CyberLife?” Hank continued, jotting down some notes.

“I wanted to start my own thing. In fact, AI prosthetics was the project I was most passionate about at first,” he said, looking truly remorseful. “But, you have the follow the science, and it wasn’t getting us anywhere. Luckily, our gene therapies ended up being very lucrative. There are a lot of terminal diseases that people will pay millions to help us find a cure for. So it all worked out in the end.”

Connor’s hands were rigid by his sides. “So, I ask again, is there a particular reason the research hit a dead end?” the android asked.

Copperhead’s eyes flared with amusement. “Got a mouth on him, too. Interesting,” he remarked. “Well, unfortunately, we ran into the problem everyone has: we couldn’t make the parts compatible enough with human tissue. We could make fully-functional limbs and replacement parts, but the connection would never stick. We found some success with specific blood types, but nothing good enough to conduct lab trials.”

“Where did you do this research?” Hank asked.

The CEO looked puzzled, but answered the question anyway, “Just a place in the warehouse district. Nothing’s there now--we’re just holding onto it as a real estate investment until the market improves.”

But the question had piqued his paranoia, and Hank noticed him lean back slightly, an indication that he was ready to clam up. Connor shot him a glance that confirmed the hunch.

“What is this about?” Copperhead asked slowly.

Hank took a small step forward, “Mr. Copperhead, we’ve found a link to Vector Biotech in a string of killings.”

The man looked shocked, “The Corktown Killer?”

Hank nodded.

The genial smile had left the man’s face, “That’s impossible.”

“Impossible?” Hank asked.

“Entirely. Vector Biotech doesn’t use androids,” he said plainly.

“You don’t use any androids at all?” Connor asked.

A sharpness had developed in Copperhead’s eyes, one that intensified when he looked at Connor. “Look, I left CyberLife because Kamski thinks he’s a fucking god. He tried to make people for Christ’s sake. At first, I was caught up in the science of it all, but once I realized the implications, I quit. When I started Vector Biotech, we used simple androids to help at first, nothing advanced. But they proved too much of a risk. We’re 100% human now.”

“Pretty ironic that a biotech company refuses to use AI. Especially since you were looking at AI prosthetics,” Hank said, his head tilted to the side.

Copperhead flashed a smugness that Hank found familiar. He stepped out from behind the desk to the bookshelf, pulling out a book.

“The Art of Artificial Intelligence by Amanda Stern,” he announced before throwing the book on his desk. On the cover was an austere Black woman with her braided hair in a twist. “She posits that the foundational flaw with AI is that we try to remake the human brain and we have enough hubris to think we can actually fucking do it. The revolution proved we can’t.

“I wanted to do prosthetics because the technology would sync with functioning human brains, thereby avoiding that central problem. But our technology wasn’t there yet. So, I moved on: both in our work and our staffing. Believe me, detective, there is no way a Vector Biotech android could be committing these, or any crimes. Because they don’t exist.”

Hank’s brows drew together, “Why did you stop using them?”

“We had problems with them being,” his eyes flicked to Connor’s LED, “unreliable.”

Connor’s mouth flattened to a thin line. Hank thought it was time to turn up the pressure on their suspect. He looked to Connor and nodded his head toward Copperhead. Connor gave the faintest smile, Hank thought anyone but him might have missed it. The android pulled up his palm display showing the memo and held it out to Copperhead.

“This is a memo signed by you authorizing your scientists to retrieve human samples. We can trace this document directly to the murders, down to the blood type,” Connor said, exaggerating only slightly.

Copperhead leaned towards Connor before grabbing his hand roughly to look at the display. He read through it once before pushing his hand away and turning to Hank.

“This evidence is garbage,” he said, smirking. “We don’t even do that research anymore. If someone’s trying to frame me, they’re going to need more than that.”

“Can you think of anyone who would want to target you or your company?” Hank asked. 

Copperhead scoffed, “Take your pick. This industry is cutthroat. We have a handful of competitors in Detroit, a dozen nationally, and that’s not even considering international players,” he said, interlacing his fingers on his stomach. “But you ask me, Kamski’s your man.”

“What would Elijah Kamski stand to gain from this? Do you compete with each other?” Hank asked, leaning forward and resting his hands on the desk.

“I’m not saying Kamski stands to benefit anything. Vector and CyberLife may have competed in the beginning, but now we’re in different sectors,” he said, dismissing the idea. “What I’m saying is that if there’s an android gone crazy and you’re trying to find the person responsible, you’re looking for Kamski.”

Hank nodded, giving Copperhead an off-kilter smile, “Hey, I’m no fan of Kamski’s. I’m just trying to stop a killer.”

The sudden drop in formality energized Copperhead, who was clearly warming to Hank. “Of course. I’m not trying to be difficult; I just hate these things,” he said, gesturing to Connor.

Hank did a pretty good job at hiding his disdain. Not a great job, but a pretty good one.

The man pushed papers around his desk, looking for a notepad. Once it was located, and an old coffee mug lifted off of it, he wrote down a phone number.

“Look, this is my personal cell phone. I really do want to help in any way I can,” he said, scribbling a number and ripping off the page. He held it out to Hank.

“Thanks,” Hank said, taking the note with a smile. “I think that’s all our questions for now. Ready to go, Con?”

Connor, who had been remarkably quiet in this interview, gave a curt nod and turned on his heel. When he got to the door, he rested his hand on the jamb and faced Copperhead.

“Out of curiosity, which android models did you use previously?”

Copperhead shrugged, adjusting his pants, “Don’t remember. But the ones we used were before synth skin, so they were all white,” he said, giving a sideways grin to Hank. “At least that way you could tell they weren’t human.”

Connor gave a tight smile and narrowed his eyes before leaving the office. Hank followed him, eager to leave Copperhead’s office. The pair didn’t say anything in the elevator down. Nor did they talk in the lobby, walking by the receptionist and out the glass doors. When they got in the car, though, Hank slid one hand onto Connor’s knee. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Connor pulled on his seatbelt and rested his hand on Hank’s, “Max Copperhead is a bigot. His opinions on androids don’t interest me.”

Hank gave a dim smile.

“But thank you for asking, Lieutenant,” he added softly.

Hank turned on the car with his opposite hand, keeping one firmly on Connor’s leg. Even though Connor had brushed off Copperhead’s comments, Hank couldn’t do the same. The CEO’s words didn’t surprise him; Hank had expected about that level of disdain from the man. But to hear them directed at Connor was more difficult than he had expected.

The android rubbed his fingers over Hank’s calloused fingers, pulling his synth skin back. 

Hank glanced down at the white plastic. “You know, I like your skin and all. But when you pull it away, it’s pretty fucking stunning,” Hank admitted.

Connor looked up to Hank, slipping his other hand under his. One curl had fallen to his forehead and rested above his eye. “Are you saying you think I’m pretty?” he asked with a grin.

Hank rolled his eyes, “Oh, please. You know you’re gorgeous.”

“I do, but it’s nice to know you think so,” Connor said, his chin slanted up and his eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun.

The car slowed to a stop at a red light and Hank turned to Connor, leaning over the console. “Come here,” he said.

Connor blinked a question before bringing his hand to Hank’s neck and pressing his mouth against him. Hank spread his fingers over Connor’s thigh and pulled him closer. 

Hank knew there were notes to log and case files to update. They had to debrief Chen and figure out where the interview with Copperhead left them. But at this moment, all Hank could think about was Connor’s mouth and the feeling of his thigh under his hand. 

Something happens to you when you spend so much time alone. You adapt, shift into what you need to be to survive. Hank had forgotten what it felt like to want someone who wants you. And as Connor’s tongue slipped across Hank’s lips and his back arched toward him, he knew there was no going back. It felt too good to give up.

Connor slid his mouth across Hank’s cheek and down his neck. “You’re making us go back to the precinct, aren’t you?” he asked as he dragged Hank’s hand farther up his thigh.

Hank groaned, vibrating his throat against Connor’s mouth.

“You’re gonna kill me, Con,” he said softly.

“I doubt that,” he whispered, “besides, your pulse tells me you like to be teased.”

A honk blared from behind them and Hank’s eyes snapped to the light, which had turned green. Connor leaned back into his seat but kept Hank’s hand on the inside of his thigh. 

Hank shook his head, focusing on the road in front of him.

“Precinct first. Home later.”

Hank missed it when the outer edges of Connor’s eyebrows dipped a fraction of an inch at the word ‘home,’ but he felt Connor’s grip tighten on his hand. 

“Home later,” the android repeated.


	8. You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a realization about the case, and what it means for the role he has played in it. Later, Hank and Connor go home and the inevitable happens when they find themselves alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I took a break on this because of Thanksgiving, but it's BACK and badder than ever (the writing, I mean). 
> 
> CW: There are some D/s themes here, but it's all very consent-based.

“You’re telling me Copperhead didn’t recognize Connor at all?” Chen asked as she started her fifth round of pacing the conference room.

Connor shook his head, “He had obviously never seen me before.”

“But you remember meeting him, so what does that mean?” she asked.

Connor pursed his lips, “There’s only one likely possibility. My memory wasn’t simply tampered with. Another android’s memory was uploaded into my brain, one of the older androids that worked on prosthetics years ago.” He looked up to Hank, “It’s really the only option.”

Hank stood with his hip against the window, looking out into the parking lot. “That’s why the warehouse was abandoned, even though you remembered it from just a few days prior.”

Chen reached across the table, picking up Copperhead’s resume, “But we thought Copperhead did the reprogramming. If he didn’t, who did?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “If we’re agreeing with Copperhead that the memo was forged, someone is trying to frame him. The person would need access to the records room and stand to benefit from Copperhead going to prison or at least getting fired. That points to someone within Vector Biotech, right?”

Chen grimaced, “Isn’t it more likely it’s a competing company? A scandal like this wouldn’t stop at Max Copperhead, it would be enough to take the whole company down.”

She took a seat across from Connor, leaning forward towards him. “Besides, we’re focusing on the wrong mystery.”

Hank turned, looking back at the two. Connor sat with a perfectly straight back as Chen faced him, her eyes narrowed. Connor’s face gave away a faint question: one he wasn’t ready to ask.

“Because you’re the key to all of this, Connor,” she said in a measured voice. “Which I think you already knew.”

Hank’s hands slid limply out of his pockets as he searched the android’s face. His mouth was turned down slightly at the corners, pulling his face into a frown. Connor wasn’t looking at either of them but focusing on the table of evidence.

“Connor?” she asked gently.

“I think I planted the memo. I could have planted all the other records, too,” his brown eyes looked up at Hank, one curl on a furrowed brow. “I think I was a spy.”

“A spy for who?” Hank asked.

“One of Vector Biotech’s competitors,” Chen said. “It’s the only real option.”

Connor nodded, crossing his arms, “You’re right. It must be that.”

Hank shook his head, “It’s a pretty, uhh, gruesome frame job just for some corporate espionage bullshit. They didn’t need to create a serial killer just to take down one rival company, right?”

“It wasn’t just to take down the rival company,” Connor said darkly. “I think it was for the science.”

Chen stood up, tapping her fingers on the table. The energy was sparking off of her. “That’s it. It’s a two-birds-one-stone scenario. Connor, you yourself said the science wasn’t getting anywhere with prosthetics, that they needed this ‘fresher tissue,’ right?”

Connor glanced up at her, nodding. Hank got the impression Connor foresaw where Chen was going with this. He looked grateful that she was the one explaining it to Hank so that he didn’t need to.

“So, a competing company sends spies into Vector Biotech to get the tissue samples they need while also laying the blame squarely at Copperhead’s feet. It’s a win-win.”

“How do we find the company, then?” Hank asked.

Chen looked to Connor, her information exhausted. She pulled her mouth to one side and widened her eyes into a question.

“You can try probing my memory to find out if I’m the unit that was stolen from CyberLife, hopefully finding out who did it. But it might not work. You’ll probably need to hack into my code, find IP addresses. That could get you there,” Connor lifted his chin.

“What about Peter?” Hank asked as his face dropped. “Could we probe him instead?”

Connor gave a reluctant nod, giving Hank the distinct impression that he would prefer they leave the dead android alone.

Chen walked around the table, crouching by Connor. His elbows were tucked in by his side, and Chen was careful not to touch him. She looked up at him with her dark eyes and rested a hand on the arm of his chair. “Connor, I know someone really good at this. I think she can help. And she’s nice—she’ll be understanding.”

Connor mustered a smile and patted her hand, “Thank you. Can we do it first thing tomorrow? It will be good for me to get a few hours of stasis beforehand.”

Chen pushed her lower lip up as she stood and headed for the door, “Absolutely. I’ll call her now,” she turned to Hank, “I’ll text you.”

Once they were alone, Connor’s eyes flicked up to Hank. He took a breath and rose to his feet, “Are we going home now?” he asked.

Hank didn’t know much about emotions, but he was fairly certain Connor, a highly advanced android, should be able to glean at least a little of Hank’s concern from his face. He dropped into a chair and stared up at Connor, who blankly stared back.

“Are you joking? After all that?” he jutted out his chin into a pout.

“We made great headway in the case,” he said, his forehead wrinkling, “I thought that would please you.”

Hank took his face in his hands, hunching over the table. “Did you consider that it may upset me to see your memory probed for information? Especially after what you told me it felt like?”

“Oh,” Connor replied. “I just thought you would want to solve the case.”

“Sure, I want to solve the case. Doesn’t mean I want to see you in pain,” Hank explained.

Connor waved him off, “There are worse things. I can handle it.”

“Can’t we try Peter first?” Hank’s voice was quite close to begging. “See if he gives us the answers we need?”

“No. I do not want that,” Connor said declaratively. His tone left little room for Hank to make an appeal for his own selfishness, his own desperation to keep Connor safe at all costs.

“I would like you to be there with me, if you are okay with it,” he said, almost too quiet for Hank to hear.

“Of course, Con.”

Connor stood with his face lifted to the window. The sun had set a few minutes ago and the room had grown darker. The fluorescent lights were harsh, but Connor still looked like a painting. Hank could just make out one freckle under his collar where he had loosened his tie.

“Can we go home now?” Connor asked.

Hank dropped his head to the side, “You that desperate to get me in bed?”

Connor gave a bright grin but said nothing.

“Okay, then. Let’s go, kid,” Hank said, walking to the door. Connor stayed put, forcing Hank to squeeze by him in the doorway. For a brief moment, they stood facing one another with Connor’s lips barely parted.

Hank laid his palm flat on Connor’s chest and pushed him gently back into the jamb. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, “That’s not fair, Con,” he chided into his ear before slipping into the bullpen. While, yes, the android was gorgeous and seductive as all hell, Hank was starting to regain his footing around Connor. If he had turned around, he would have seen Connor leaning into the doorway with a lidded expression, watching Hank’s shoulders as he walked away.

Hank made a show of picking up a few things from his desk: wallet, keys, even a forgotten travel mug that he had pushed into the corner. Connor stood at the edge of the desk and took out his coin, flicking it back and forth in his hands. The case file rested precariously on his keyboard and Hank dropped it into a drawer before standing up straight.

Hank was stalling, and not simply because he wanted to inflict some amount of torture on Connor.

Connor raised an eyebrow, “Ready?”

He tipped his chin and Connor pocketed the coin, walking to the car. As he followed Connor, he noticed the fabric stretching across his thighs as he walked. A heat coiled deep in his belly as they walked down the steps in front of the DPD.

Once in the car, Connor turned to him, “Are you nervous?”

“What? Fuck no,” Hank replied emphatically, turning the engine.

“I think I’m nervous,” said Connor, taking out the coin again and rolling it in between his fingers.

“Shit, okay,” Hank said, feeling stupid for his bravado.

“Is it? Is it okay?” Connor asked, his eyes searching Hank’s.

“Jesus, baby, of course. Honestly, I’m nervous too,” he admitted because it was the truth. Hank wasn’t lying when he said he had never been with a man. He had never wanted to, at least before Connor. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but I’m no expert in this either.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t an expert,” Connor said rakishly, tapping his LED.

A laugh from deep in Hank’s belly bubbled up, relaxing his shoulders. He rubbed his jaw, working out some of the tight muscles that had built up over the years. “Listen, we don’t need to do…anything. I mean it. You set the pace,” Hank said, gesturing one hand towards Connor. “Nothing you do will upset me.”

Connor lifted one hand to Hank’s and pulled it down, studying it. One of his fingers traced the pad of Hank’s ring finger, down to the deep creases on his palm. He turned it over, dipping into the valleys between his knuckles.

“I’m worried you won’t like what I am, when you see my less…human parts,” he said.

Hank’s eyes drew down and over, watching Connor inspect his hand. “I might need you to walk me through some things, but I think I’m pretty open-minded when it comes to sex.” Hank thought back to college and some one night stands he’d had since then, even the early days of his marriage. He had been game for pretty much anything.

Though, to be fair, they all had a heartbeat.

“Do you know what you want?” Hank asked.

Connor’s lips pulled to one side as he considered the question. He tossed the curl to the side of his face and peered sidelong at Hank.

“I want to try everything,” he said, emphatic.

And if that wasn’t the best fucking thing to come out of that android’s mouth all day. Hank grinned.

“But I think for tonight, I’d like it if you could take charge like you did in the equipment locker. You could put me where you want me. I would like that,” Connor said confidently, threading his fingers in between Hank’s. “I trust you, and I think it would help me feel comfortable learning about myself.”

The heat in Hank’s belly flared and his mouth went dry. The idea of directing Connor’s actions, following what makes him fall apart was…a lot. “Okay,” he rasped.

“What do you want?” Connor asked.

Hank turned onto his street and attempted to ignore his imaginings. “Your thing sounds good,” he replied. For the first time, he understood a little bit of what preconstructing must feel like to Connor. It was more than a little distracting. “But I have one rule.”

He could feel Connor’s undivided attention on him. Setting rules, giving him parameters, was working for him. Hank made a mental note.

He pulled into the driveway and parked, sliding the keys out of the ignition and turning to Connor. He considered waiting until they were in the house but knew it would be too dangerous without the console keeping them apart.

“You tell me if you feel uncomfortable at all. If you want to stop, or slow down, or just talk about something, you say it. We can use shorthand like green: keep going, yellow: slow down, and red: stop. Okay?”

Connor nodded.

“That one is important because sex is supposed to be fun. If it’s not fun for you, it’s not fun for me. So, don’t endure something just because you think I’m going to like it, okay?”

Connor nodded.

“Say it,” Hank said deliberately, his voice sinking an octave.

“Green: keep going, yellow: slow down, and red: stop,” he parroted verbatim, and Hank could see a flare of red in the skin on his neck. Did those CyberLife goons program androids to flush when they were turned on?

Noted.

“Good,” Hank said, swinging open his car door. Connor followed close behind him, standing just to Hank’s side as he unlocked the door. Right as he opened it, Sumo came charging out, directly to Connor once again.

And as much as Hank wanted their sexual tension to be Connor’s primary focus, seeing him absolutely melt at the sight of Sumo was pretty fucking adorable. Hank walked in as the lovestruck pair shared a moment on the front stoop, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Shrugging out of his coat and leaning on the counter, he watched as Connor stood up and patted his thighs, encouraging the dog to jump up again.

The action went against the very sloppy training Hank had tried to instill in the Saint Bernard, but it was worth it to see Connor smile.

It was difficult for Hank to believe he had only spent three days with this Connor. They had seen dead bodies, questioned suspects, and even broken into a shuttered biotech facility. All in three days.

But that was just like it had been with the previous Connor. They had had a similar trial by fire, just without any backstory. So perhaps it wasn’t so weird that Hank had fallen this hard this fast. The biggest difference had been that Connor wasn’t deviated when they met—he was still a machine trying to accomplish his mission.

Instead, he had been presented with a darker Connor, one borne out of trauma. He was less reserved, faster to make a joke, and, frankly, easier for Hank to understand. But was he the same one?

Connor looked up from Sumo to glance sidelong at Hank. Nuzzling against the dog’s ear, he cradled his head while his mouth moved like he was telling him a secret. Sumo turned to run a wide, flat tongue up Connor’s face before galloping to Hank.

“Oh, did you want dinner?” Hank asked the canine.

Sumo didn’t reply, but plopped down by his bowl, drooling.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get it,” Hank said as he gathered the bowl and filled it with the kibble. Setting it down, Sumo dug in.

Hank returned to the counter to get his beer and turned back to the living room. Connor leaned against the back of the couch, the heels of his hands holding him up and his elbows locked by his sides. Instead of his characteristic perfect posture, he was hunched forward, his shoulders curled in on his chest. His body faced forward, but his head turned towards Hank, looking through the curl that had fallen onto his forehead.

Hank took a few steps towards him and paused at the entryway to the kitchen. He kicked one foot behind the other, his shoulder thudding against the archway. Bringing the beer to his lips, he tipped it back, never breaking eye contact with Connor.

They shared a comfortable silence, drinking each other in. Neither had any idea what would come tomorrow, with Chen’s friend who would probe Connor’s memory or the leads they had to follow. But for right now, Hank knew Connor was safe, and he was home.

Hank placed the beer on the kitchen table, still half-full. His walk to Connor was slow and deliberate, his hands in his pockets. Hank stopped a few inches from him. Connor straightened.

“Can I kiss you?” Hank asked.

Connor’s mouth dropped open. He gave a faint nod.

Hank pulled a hand from his pocket and slid an arm around Connor’s waist. He wasn’t pulling Connor away from the couch so much as he was pulling himself in towards it. His lips grazed Connor’s, their mouths pressing into one another. Connor lifted his arms to Hank’s waist as his mouth opened.

The kiss was slow, different from the rushed, desperate one in the equipment locker. They took their time like they were searching each other. Hank’s fingers spread across Connor’s lower back and he gasped, arching in response.

Hank pressed back, his other hand bracing on the couch and bracketing Connor in. The android’s movements grew shaky and his fingers gripped Hank’s sides, dragging him closer. Hank smiled against Connor’s mouth and pulled back.

“This is good for you?”

“Yes,” Connor breathed, his pupils wide.

Hank knew he was good in bed. The women he had been with, especially his ex-wife, were shocked when he wanted to please them early and often. It wasn’t a chore for him; he loved giving people what they wanted. And knowing that Connor was ready and willing, anxious to learn about his body and how it could make him feel was intoxicating.

Hank decided it was his favorite thing.

“You are so gorgeous,” Hank said, one hand smoothing Connor’s hair.

Connor’s eyes refocused a little, pulling him into the shallow end of his stupor. Hank stepped back, taking his tie and leading him around the couch. Hank sat down and dragged Connor to meet him. Connor planted his knees on either side of Hank’s hips, instinctively drawing his hands to either side of his face.

Connor rolled his hips into Hank before jerking backward, “Oh.”

“Oh?” Hank asked, one eyebrow raised.

Then android tentatively rolled forward again, into Hank’s already hard cock. He pressed inwards, leaning back a bit for extra pressure.

“Oh my,” he said, his eyes fluttering closed.

To be perfectly clear, Hank hadn’t known what to expect from Connor’s genitalia. He had heard enough to know there were a variety of options, and not much else. But now, with Connor’s hips grinding into him and his hands gripping his thighs, he was sure Connor had a dick. And the urge was entirely unfamiliar, he wanted nothing more than to wrap his mouth around it.

Hank smoothed his hands up to Connor’s hip bones, his thumb tracing the outline of Connor’s cock. The android shuddered forward with a sharp inhale, his eyes popping open.

“H-hank,” he said, looking down and back up into Hank’s face.

“Don’t mind me,” Hank said rubbing his thumb over Connor’s length, from base to tip. Connor’s LED shifted from yellow to red as his hips stopped moving.

“Connor?” Hank asked, his fingers stopping in their tracks. Did he go too far?

“Green,” Connor said into Hank’s ear as he bent forward. Hank didn’t need to be told twice. He grinned into Connor’s neck before licking a wide stripe up from his collarbone to his jaw and brought his hands around Connor’s back, massaging his ass.

“So, this is also good for you, hm?” he hummed.

“Yes,” Connor said breathlessly as he rocked back, his hands landing on Hank’s knees.

“You’re quite easy to please, you know,” Hank said, wishing he had Connor’s photographic memory.

“Is that bad?” Connor asked, half-opening one eye and looking down at Hank.

Hank untucked Connor’s shirt, sliding his hands under the fabric and up the flat plane of his stomach. He wrapped his hands around Connor and pulled him down.

“Not even fucking remotely,” he replied, dragging him to the side and onto the couch, Hank sliding on top of him. Connor wrapped his legs around Hank’s waist and twisted his hands in his hair.

Hank dove into a kiss, running his tongue across the roof of Connor’s mouth. Connor, for his part, reciprocated just as eagerly. Hank wound his fingers around the buttons of Connor’s shirt and undid them one by one, working his way up to the tie, which he loosened and slipped over his neck.

Hank sat up to admire the bare chest below him featuring the cool blue of his thirum pump, the black fabric of the shirt twisted around Connor’s sides. Hank ran his hands over Connor’s pecs, thumbing his nipples and trapping his hips as the android writhed underneath him.

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you,” Hank said.

Hank then slipped off Connor, pulling a whine out of the android as his hips rise into the air above him.

“Stand up,” Hank said gruffly.

Connor followed direction quite nicely, wincing as he came to his feet and bending at the waist slightly.

“That’s because your dick’s hard—it hurts because it’s straining against these tight pants you like to wear,” Hank said as his index finger ran along the outline of Connor’s cock.

Connor’s head tilted up and down, his eyes closed.

“Tell me why you bought them,” Hank directed.

“I bought them for you,” Connor purred.

“But you bought them to tease me, didn’t you,” Hank said, increasing the pressure on Connor’s cock.

“Yes, I bought them to,” the android paused to gasp through static, “to tease you.” One hand fell to Hank’s shoulder, aiding in his struggle to stay standing.

Somewhere in Hank’s mind, he had imagined Connor falling apart, but nowhere did it sound quite like this. Connor’s eyes, when he managed to open them, were dark and lethargic. His hands were like desperate outriggers, fighting for even ground. Connor didn’t need to breathe, but something about his arousal gave him lungs. His breaths were shallow and uneven, like waves before a storm.

Hank pressed his flat hand into his crotch, Connor’s mouth falling open in something like surprise. Hank pulled back, his fingers more nimble than usual as he unbuttoned and tore down Connor’s pants. He meant to go slower, to savor more of these moments. But he couldn’t help himself and worked Connor’s very trendy underwear off of him.

The flurry of movement had lifted Connor out of his bliss out stupor just long enough to give Hank a questioning look as he stood, rapt, staring at Connor’s cock.

“Hank?” he asked, his voice stilted.

Hank had relished his tight grip on self-control. Taking care of Connor, leading him through this, was just another perk of them getting together. But to see someone so monumentally stunning all at once was overwhelming, and Connor saw a chance. Which he took.

Connor put a hand behind Hank’s neck and ran his tongue around the shell of his ear. It was Hank’s turn to dip his head back, his eyes closing on reflex. Connor undressed Hank piece by piece, kissing the skin where, just a few layers deeper, muscles met and knitted together. Hank’s hands carded through Connor’s soft, weirdly and impossibly soft, hair as barely audible moans escaped his mouth.

“I’m a fast learner,” Connor said, working Hank’s pants off and slipping his hands over Hank’s ass.

The comment stole the words that Hank had been trying to form, compromising instead into another strangled moan as Connor’s lips feathered over his belly and chest.

“Should we go to the bedroom?” Connor asked, his hands winding around Hank’s neck and pulling him into a clumsy kiss. Their legs negotiated a winding path to the bedroom, toes landing on toes.

Hank had followed similar choreography before, but this time was distinctly different. There was a humor, a partnership that simply hadn’t existed with anyone else. They were a pair of stumbling idiots and their hard cocks bouncing together was ridiculous, but not unerotic, to both of them. As Hank gripped Connor and lowered him down to the bed, a kiss into his neck melted into a laugh.

“Is everything all right?” Connor asked, his question laced with mild concern.

“Oh, yeah,” Hank said, propping himself up on an elbow, his body pressed to Connor’s side. “It’s just…This is just easier with you than it usually is. For me.”

“But you’ve never been with a male-bodied individual before,” Connor said.

Hank shook his head, “No. I haven’t,” he said as he traced lines in Connor’s chest.

“Which means it’s a first for both of us,” he said, rolling to face Hank. “I like that.” Hank’s eyebrows drew together in reply.

“It makes me feel less awkward,” Connor said.

“Oh Con,” Hank said, his hand flat on Connor’s stomach as his gaze drifted over the android’s body. “There is absolutely nothing awkward about you.”

Connor gave a sideways, if not slightly deflated, grin, “Are you sure? I _am_ an android sent by CyberLife.” The joke belied a harsher truth that both were attempting to ignore.

They could ignore it a bit longer.

“You are stunning,” he said, pressing Connor’s hand to his lips before pushing him back into the bed. He raised himself up and slid down further. “I want to make you feel good.”

Connor’s throat tightened and his LED spun red for a few cycles. He gave a nod before threading his hand into Hank’s hair.

Hank had, clearly, never sucked dick before. But he had been the beneficiary of more than a few blow jobs, most excellent, and always assumed it wasn’t too hard. In addition, he had a dick of his own, which he hoped would give him an edge.

He wrapped one hand around Connor’s hip as he kissed the flesh below his navel. Pulling his head back, one hand brushed up against Connor’s cock, causing it to twitch to the side with his pelvis.

And if that wasn’t just the best thing in the world, Hank thought.

Hank took his cock lightly in one hand, stroking it once while watching Connor’s face contort. The hand in Hank’s hair tightened, pulling him in. Hank bent forward, taking the tip of Connor’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Connor swore, his bicep flexing and dragging Hank’s face downward. His cock slid deeper into Hank’s mouth as his hips bucked up to meet the back of his throat.

There was a lot of information for Hank to process, but one thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to keep Connor in this state for as long as possible. So, he took a moment to thank whatever God was responsible for his relatively meager gag reflex and returned to Connor’s cock hungrily.

Hank swirled his tongue around the tip of Connor’s cock, his hand gripping the base. Connor writhed under him, wordlessly panting and gripping the sheets by his waist. Hank smiled onto Connor’s length and shifted his weight to pin down his legs, which had begun to twitch.

“You have to be good and stay still for me, okay?” Hank said after he popped Connor out of his mouth.

“Ngghh,” Connor replied, his hips rising towards Hank’s face.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Hank asked, hovering his open mouth above Connor’s glistening head.

Connor’s face looked pained as he peered down. If Hank didn’t have one hand firmly on his steel hard cock, he may have been concerned by Connor’s stiff nod.

“Say it,” Hank’s voice darkened.

“I’ll be good for you. I want to be good for you,” Connor rasped, obviously straining to keep his hips down.

“Good boy,” Hank said, returning to his task.

Connor had asked Hank to take charge, which Hank had been more than happy to oblige. Part of it was likely due to Connor’s inexperience, but Hank thought there was another reason as well, one that he may not even be aware of yet.

The android was programming to work with humans. He was programmed to serve humans, meet their needs. Hank suspected that, on some level, Connor was turned on by following orders in the bedroom. Hank was keeping his directives tame for the time being, but the thought inspired a few fantasies he was interested in pursuing in the future.

Staying still was not easy for Connor, who was responsive, and growing more so, to Hank’s every touch. Just as Hank was tracing lines up his thigh, thinking about cupping his ass and exploring how sensitive Connor was there, he felt a distinct pull on the back of his head.

Hank reluctantly slid his dick out his mouth and looked up.

“Yellow? I think?” Connor said, breathless.

Hank’s eyes widened, “Okay, of course. What’s up?”

“It’s, umm, it’s just,” Connor rubbed his forehead, “It’s a lot.”

“Is it bad?” Hank asked.

Connor squinted, “Umm…no? It almost feels like I’m vibrating and hitting some sort of,” he searched for the words, “turning point.”

“Well, that could be an orgasm. Do you know if you can do that?”

Connor shrugged between breaths, his gaze still heavy. “Maybe.”

“We can stop now and maybe revisit it again later?” Hank asked, tentatively moving back up on the bed. He would love nothing better than to push Connor over the edge right now, but it was more important that they both wanted it. And as of right now, Connor wasn’t ready.

Which, honestly, made Hank taking complete control in the future far, far hotter.

Connor nodded, clawing at Hank as he rose up to the top of the bed. Hank’s shoulders rested against the headboard and he pulled Connor to him.

“Hey,” Hank said, softly chuckling, “Everything okay?”

“That was very good,” Connor said, “but…”

“But?” Hank asked, his stomach dropping.

“You don’t know how hard it is to watch you do that,” Connor said, his hands running down Hank’s front and down to his crotch, “and not get to do the same thing.”

Connor quickly shifted to all fours and leaned into Hank, kissing him. His hands worked on Hank’s cock, which rested heavily on his thigh and had softened slightly while he was focusing on Connor. Now, with him kneeling in front of Hank, his desperate breaths in his ear, he bucked his hips just like Connor had been.

After a few moments, Connor dropped his mouth to Hank’s wide cock, his ass in the air. Connor’s mouth was like warm, slick velvet surrounding Hank’s entire body. He sank into the feeling, trying to keep his eyes open. Connor’s tongue slid around Hank’s cock experimentally at first, finding what he liked. Connor sank deeper onto his cock, and Hank shuddered as his mouth bottomed out on his pelvic bone.

“Fuck, Connor,” he breathed, barely resisting the urge to press his hand against the back of Connor’s head.

At that, Connor became more enthusiastic, bobbing his head on Hank’s length. Hank’s thighs shook and he reached forward, running his hand over Connor’s ass. He wished he could say it was because he was thinking of Connor’s pleasure. He wasn’t.

His fingers twitched and though he had come plenty of times, he almost understood why Connor had asked him to stop. He was having the usual signs of his growing orgasm, except these were in capital letters.

Connor’s brown eyes looked up at him, his ass in the air and the head of his cock resting in his open mouth. That was enough.

Hank’s eyes shut as he came in spurts, Connor dutifully taking his cock and swallowing him down. Hank unconsciously fisted his hand in Connor’s hair and dragged him down, his hips jerking into him.

Hank’s breath stayed ragged as Connor sat up, wiping his mouth delicately with a thumb.

“Was that okay?” He asked, eyes wide and innocent.

Hank kept his head back, resting on the headboard. Between breaths, a smile formed on his face.

“Fuck you,” he said to the ceiling.

Connor folded himself into Hank’s side, pulling the disheveled covers over both of them. Hank’s arm wound its way down Connor’s back and rested on his hip.

“That would be nice to try.”

Hank lifted his head and looked down. He pressed a kiss into his hair before shifting to the side, his other hand tipping up Connor’s chin.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice clear and earnest.

“I’m fantastic,” Connor said, his face bright.

“You really have no idea how true that is,” Hank said, leaning back into the headboard. “You simply have no idea.”

Sitting in the dark, the two nestled into one another. Connor traced lazy circles in Hank’s chest hair and Hank’s arm lay heavily on Connor’s hip, holding him in place.

“Would you like the rest of your beer?” Connor asked. “I noticed you left it half-full in your eagerness to get me in bed.”

“You’re right. If I had only known, I wouldn’t have gotten the beer at all,” Hank squeezed Connor’s hip playfully. “But a beer would be incredible right now.”

Connor lifted his head to Hank’s, planting a sloppy kiss on him and wearing a dreamy smile as he slid off the bed.

“You also didn’t eat dinner. I’ll get you something,” he said.

“Oh, you don’t have-“ Hank started because Connor shot him a look that made it clear his opinion was irrelevant.

Left alone in the bedroom, Hank pulled the covers over him, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t felt this young in a long, long time. He hadn’t felt this happy in…perhaps ever.

Connor flitted back into the room, stark naked and with the beer in tow. He deposited it on the nightstand before kissing Hank quickly on the shoulder. He returned to the kitchen and Hank heard prattling to the dog and the back door slide open. Connor was letting Sumo out.

Hank lifted the beer, finding it colder and heavier than he expected. Connor had gotten him a fresh one.

“Fuck,” Hank sighed to himself.

There was no denying it: he was head over heels for the fucking android. In the middle of an investigation a serial killer android. In which he was a suspect.

Hank was, thoroughly and completely, fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and subscribing! It keeps me going!


	9. Get to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a slow morning of waking up together, Hank and Connor contend with the reality they face. They go into the DPD, neither relishing the memory probe Connor signed up for the day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens, my friends.

Mornings were never Hank’s strong suit. At best, they made him cranky. At worst, they made him an asshole.

But this morning, he awoke before the sun rose and watched as the dappled light hit Connor’s cheekbone. Connor was deep in stasis, his LED spinning a calm blue. He was doing his version of snoring, which Hank thought sounded like an old CD drive booting up. The rhythm punctuated the soft morning, providing an even cadence to his thoughts.

He had eaten a gourmet dinner in bed, listening to Connor tell him every detail of how he determined a complicated recipe from the meager ingredients offered by Hank’s kitchen. Connor, still stark naked, had gently dropped a corner of the blanket in his lap, an uncharacteristic show of modesty. Hank noticed but didn’t mention it, enjoying the good food and energetic company.

Perhaps that was one of the key traits that drew him in. Connor approached everything with a determination that Hank hadn’t felt in years, probably longer. Connor cared about everything, discovered immediate investment in whatever he came across. Hank struggled to find investment in anything, especially himself.

Hank leaned against his headboard, the lamp on his bedside table the only light in the room, as he scraped one of his old plates for a last taste of Connor’s concoction while listening to the android wax poetic about the qualities of cumin. Hank slid the empty plate onto the table and swiveled back to Connor, his hands folded over his stomach. Connor’s back stood perfectly straight as he gesticulated to Hank about his thoughts on food, something he would never be able to experience himself.

This was what Hank reminisced about in bed that morning. As Connor slept, or whatever verb is appropriate for androids in stasis, Hank stroked the hair draping over his face.

Hank had decided to stop caring about things when Cole died. His decision had been final, a nail in a coffin he had filled with whatever misconceptions that had led him to believe he could be happy. But now he looked at Connor and felt his resolve weaken like heated steel; he knew he was going bend towards Connor.

The CD-ROM sounds dissipated, pulling Hank from his own thoughts.

“Con?” he asked softly.

Connor squeezed his already-closed eyes together, nuzzling deeper into the covers by Hank’s shoulder. If Hank hadn’t already admitted to himself that he was desperately, hopelessly in love with the android, this would have been the moment he had.

“It’s time to wake up, baby,” Hank said, his voice soft like linen.

Connor’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused until they met Hank’s.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Hank replied.

Connor raised one of his hands to Hank’s mouth, pulling his synth skin back and bushing against his lips. Hank’s chin followed, lightly kissing the plastic fingertips.

“Mmm…” the corners of Connor’s mouth lifted as his eyes drifted closed again. “This is the best morning.”

Hank gave a wan smile, his head hanging to the side.

Connor rolled to the side and lifted himself up to his elbows, inching closer to Hank. His hands drifted to Hank’s shoulder as he pulled himself on top of the Lieutenant.

“Oof,” Hank exhaled hard as Connor’s full weight covered him.

“Too heavy?” Connor asked innocently.

Hank’s mouth found a spot on Connor’s neck as he pulled at the covers, protecting the android from the chilly morning. “No, you’re perfect,” he replied, the sound muffled against Connor’s skin.

Connor’s lips found Hank’s and they kissed as they had nowhere to go. Connor wiggled on top of Hank, purring against his chest. It was slow and precious, each savoring the details as if they had never done this before.

But they couldn’t shut out the real world forever, and soon enough the sound Hank had been dreading filled the room. The chime on his phone was impossibly loud, and both turned to it like it was a fire alarm.

“That’s Chen,” Hank said, his arm curling around Connor’s lower back.

Connor reached for the phone, pulling it up and entering Hank’s passcode.

“Hey!” Hank said, trying to grab the phone out of Connor’s hand.

In half a movement, Connor had swiveled away from Hank and pressed his hand into the bed, rendering Hank motionless and clumsy at the same time. The hold didn’t hurt, but it bent him awkwardly backwards. Connor studied the phone, his face impassive, as one hand kept Hank’s pinned to the bed and the other scrolled through messages.

“Hey,” Hank repeated, a little softer, trying to figure out how Connor had evaded him so quickly. And, if he were being honest, he was trying to contend with his increased heart rate and the distinct tightness in his boxers.

“We have to get to the precinct. Chen’s friend is going to be there in half an hour,” Connor said, turning to Hank, but retaining his hold. As soon as Connor’s eyes met Hank’s, one eyebrow cocked upward.

“Hank, are you aroused?” he asked.

Hank attempted to scoff, but the noise he emitted ended up more of a breathy moan. Connor paired the noise with the dilated pupils and the increased heart rate to retrieve his answer.

“I assumed you wanted to be the more dominant sex partner, but perhaps that was incorrect,” Connor said, keeping Hank’s hand pinned as he returned the phone to the nightstand. He loomed over Hank, still partially immobilized.

“I could keep you like this for a long time if I wanted. I could overpower you,” Connor said flatly, a distinct note of glee in his eyes as he saw Hank’s breath speed up.

“Connor,” Hank said, pulling against him.

“But we don’t have time for that now,” Connor said, releasing Hank’s hand and jumping off the bed. He was out of the room in a flash, already moving on to the next task. Hank leaned back into the bed, rubbing his hand as he thought about taking care of his burgeoning hard-on in the shower. Or, he wondered, if he could ask Connor to help.

The pair stumbled through the morning, Connor asking a million questions about breakfast and Hank introducing him to shower sex (with some overlap). But even with the distractions, they managed to leave the house and start the car in twenty minutes.

The instant Hank’s face was greeted by the morning air, the softness of the morning dissipated, laying bare the unanswered questions and pronounced worries of what today would bring. Last night, they chose to ignore it, deciding instead to focus on the physical, or carnal, realities in front of them.

Connor’s processors seemed to be enduring a similar shift, his questions petering out into a pronounced silence as he watched the streetlights pass. He brought out the coin, rolling it in between his fingers.

“Hey, you doing okay over there?” Hank asked, unsure of what his own answer would be.

“I’m not afraid of someone probing my memory,” Connor said, his voice betraying nothing. “However, I am finding some reticence to learn what exactly those memories are.”

Hank tipped his head up, sucking some air into his mouth.

“We-,” Connor started, the coin making a hard stop in his left hand, “We haven’t discussed what will happen if we find out that I…played a more direct role.”

“You didn’t,” Hank replied.

“You simply don’t have the evidence to support that statement,” Connor said.

“Yeah, I fucking do,” Hank said, his voice rising. “I spent a week watching you work under direct orders to solve the deviancy crisis. What did you do instead? You let deviants run, you freed them, and finally, you joined the goddamn revolution. I know you. You just wouldn’t do what Peter did,” Hank’s voice was clear, but with an unmistakable edge of desperation.

“That may not have been me, Hank,” Connor’s voice was quiet. “Another RK800 abducted you, threatening your life. You…shot a version of me.”

Hank focused on driving, screwing his mouth to the side.

“I hope you’re right,” Connor said, released the coin from his grip and returning it to its winding path around his fingers.

“I am,” Hank replied, ending the conversation as he pulled into the parking lot.

Hank didn’t know if he was right. But he knew who Connor was, right now, and that was more important than whatever he had been before.

They entered the precinct, walking by Gavin, seated at his desk. The detective pulled back his sleeve, making a show of checking his watch.

“Looks like Anderson and his android are a bit late for work today,” he said, kicking his feet up to his desk. “Did you two sleep in?” he added, a grin plastered on his face.

“Get bent, Reed,” Hank barked.

“Huh. Usually, people are in a better mood after getting laid,” he said.

Hank suddenly veered off course, Connor’s head snapping to him as he approached Gavin. Gavin, for his part, didn’t move a muscle, instead his grin just deepened as Hank closed in on him.

“Reed, I swear to god you are asking for it,” Hank said, jabbing a finger towards him.

A laugh forced its way out of Reed’s lungs, “Hit a nerve, did I? Man, you make it way too easy.”

Connor’s fingers wound around Hank’s bicep, pulling him towards his own desk. Hank’s lips spat a curse as he turned, following the android to the desk.

“You really shouldn’t let him get to you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, leaning against his desk by Hank’s side, dragging his focus in the opposite direction of Reed.

“What I should do is take him outside,” Hank grumbled.

“For what?” Connor asked.

“For—to beat him up,” Hank said, a bit defensive.

“Why would you need to be outside?”

“You don’t _need_ to be outside, you just, it’s just an expression,” Hank reasoned.

“So, when you went outside—”

“Forget it,” Hank said, dropping his head into his hands, the explanation snuffing out his anger.

Chen crossed the bullpen from the break room, spotting Hank and Connor at their desks. She was back in her usual uniform, her hat slipped under her arm.

“Hey, you two,” she said with a deliberateness in her voice. She wasn’t cheerful like usual; a somber note colored her tone. “Ready?”

Connor gave a heavy nod, a meager smile on his face. Hank stood, waiting for Connor to follow Chen. Despite his self-proclaimed reticence, he walked only a few inches behind her, right into the interrogation room where he first landed when he arrived at the DPD. Hank stopped by the door, seeing four chairs. Connor slid onto one, Chen across from him. Next to Chen was another android, a woman with short grey hair, slightly darker at the roots. Her face was beautiful, like it was carved into stone. Her eyes shone a slate blue, lighter than her eyebrows.

“I’m Kara,” the android said, focusing on Connor. “Nice to meet you.”

Connor gave her a perfect smile, covering whatever anxiety he was feeling. “I’m Connor,” he said.

Hank sighed and pulled the door closed behind him, dropping into the chair next to Connor.

“Hank,” he said curtly.

“Nice to meet you, Hank,” Kara said, her voice like an announcement in a grocery store or a commercial for a drug with significant side effects.

Chen cleared her throat. She was a good cop, but even a bad one would be able to identify the tension in the room. She turned to Connor and gestured to Kara, “Connor, Kara’s a friend of mine. She’s helped out on a few DPD cases involving android kids, and I’ve seen her do the memory probe thing before.”

Connor nodded, leaving the distinct impression that he wasn’t really listening. He turned to Kara, “You’ve had this done to you before?”

“Yes, I have. Someone tried to wipe my memory before, too. This isn’t as bad as that, I promise,” she said, a gentle smile on her lips. Hank thought that she may have the best bedside manner of anyone he’s ever met.

“Me too. I’ve also done it to people before,” Connor said, undoing the buttons at his wrist. Kara’s eyebrows pinched in a flash of concern before being washed away. Connor rolled his sleeve to his elbow, laying his hand in front of him, palm up.

“Are you ready?” Kara asked, resting her fingers on his. Neither had pulled their synth skin back yet, and the touch seemed like something more than procedural.

Connor’s eyes lifted from his hand to her eyes. For a moment, Hank thought of how rare tenderness must seem to Connor. With everything that happened last night, he had pushed out of his mind the types of people Connor was used to facing. Gentleness wasn’t a priority in the treatment of androids.

“Yes,” he replied.

Both androids closed their eyes as they revealed the pristine white plastic of their forearms. Their LEDs spun away from the calm blue and into a torrent of red, without the yellow transition. Kara leaned forward, her eyelids pressed together.

Connor’s back went rigid, shocking itself against the back of his chair. He exhaled hard, gasping as his other hand gripped the table, his knuckles going white. His mouth contorted into a tight line, the muscles in his jaw knotting together.

Before knowing what was happening, Hank’s hand landed on Connor’s knee.

“Don’t touch him,” Kara said from behind gritted teeth.

Connor’s eyes flashed open, attempting to communicate something before glitching closed as his hand turned into a fist and pounded on the table, hard. Hank pulled his hand back, gripping his own knees as he watched his love writhe in pain.

Blue liquid seeped out between Connor’s fingers and pooled in the dent his fist had made in the aluminum table. Hank’s eyes shot to Chen, who grimaced in reply, her eyes widening as she saw Hank’s expression.

“This is fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t be going through this,” Hank said, jumping to his feet.

“Hank,” Connor squeezed out, the one word beckoning Hank closer.

“Con, you okay? You want us to stop?” he asked.

“Please shut up,” Connor’s eyes opened and flared anger before he shut them again in concentration and pain.

Hank was a capable man. He could fix things around the house, at least when he cared enough to do so. He worked his ass of in the academy, receiving top marks. He survived undercover for years, taking down a city-wide drug operation. But he was incapable of watching people he loved in pain. It stung of the accident with Cole, the divorce from his ex-wife, the death of his former partner. He tried swallowing his rage. He tried contorting himself into someone with self-control. But he failed.

Chen’s gaze followed Hank as he rounded the table, roughly shoving the androids’ hands apart. Connor slid sideways, losing his balance on his chair. Kara gasped like she had the wind knocked out of her, her torso jerking forward.

“This was a mistake. We shouldn’t be doing this,” Hank said, determined.

“Hank Anderson!” Connor yelled from the floor, his knees weak from the pain. His bleeding hand slammed against the ground, smearing thirium across the dirty floor. He pushed himself up, the synth skin still missing from his forearm.

“Connor, I know you want to do this, but there has to be—”

“You selfish, selfish man,” Connor spat.

“I don’t want you to kill yourself,” Hank replied.

“It is not possible for me to die during this procedure,” Connor explained. “I told you I had done it before.”

“Sure, but you didn’t see yourself! You didn’t tell me it was going to be this bad!” Hank said, determined to be on the right side of this argument.

Connor stood, defiant, behind his chair, his face hard like tile as thirium dripped from his hand to the floor. He rolled up his other sleeve, smearing thirium on the synth skin, still in place, on his opposite forearm. His black shirt absorbed the liquid, leaving a shock of blue striped from his wrist to his elbow.

“It isn’t your decision to make, Lieutenant Anderson,” he said simply.

Kara had regained her composure, her LED a dark yellow. Her voice rested like an icepack on the conversation, “I may have found something useful.”

The other three looked at her, the white plastic slowly ebbing away. She pulled up her palm display, revealing an image of the Detroit skyline. It was a first-person recording of someone approaching a bank of windows. There was no furniture in sight, just the city laid out below them.

The view was familiar, but Hank couldn’t place it.

“That’s exactly what we got from Peter,” Kara said, Chen nodding in agreement before her neck twitched her face to Connor.

“Peter?” Connor asked, looking to Hank.

But Chen was already weaving an excuse, “Connor, don’t be mad at him. It was my idea. I wanted to make sure we followed every lead, so I had Kara come in a bit early to find out what she could from him.”

“You probed Peter’s memory?” Connor asked Hank, his fist reforming.

“Connor—it was my—” Chen started.

“I’m not asking you, Tina,” Connor said evenly. He walked to Hank. “Did you tell Chen to probe Peter’s memory?”

Hank focused on the image of Detroit in front of him.

“He’s dead, Con,” he said gently. “It wouldn’t have made a difference to him.” Even as Hank said it, he felt his tone betray him. His grip on his own righteousness wavered.

“It made a difference to _me_ , Lieutenant.” If Connor’s voice had been sharp before, it was downright venomous now.

Hank worried his mouth to one side, “Yeah, well you’re not—”

“I’m not what?” Connor said, his face inches from Hank’s.

“You aren’t fucking _objective_ , Connor. You can’t see Peter for what he is, which is evidence. Evidence that will help us stop a murderer.”

“And I suppose you, the human, can be objective?” Connor said, pulling his arms across his chest. “As opposed to your temperamental and overly emotional android?”

“Oh, please,” Hank said, waving him off.

“No, really, I’m interested. You think that—” Connor started.

Chen’s voice filled the room, drowning out the boiling argument that, it was obvious to her, neither of these idiots was going to win.

“Can we delay this lover’s quarrel a few moments while we review this evidence?” she said, standing at her chair with her hands on the table. “Would that be okay, Lieutenant?” the tone on Hank’s title was clear—she was not interested in their chicanery. And what’s more, she knew Hank and Connor were…involved.

Connor blinked and sat back down, switching gears back to the case. Hank, for his part, was not as capable. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back to Kara, ignoring the perfect android for a blessed moment.

The video replayed the same sequence, a view of approaching the windows of a large room, revealing more of the Detroit skyline until they reached the window. The image went black, like someone pulling a blind, though it went from the bottom up.

“Where is this view from?” Chen asked the androids.

“It’s south of here. It must be one of the tallest buildings in the city,” Connor said.

Hank’s hands flew out of his pockets and he grabbed Kara’s hand, but this time to get a better look. He rotated the palm display as if it would help him see what was directly to the right of the visible image.

“Is this all? Can we see anything else?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“This is what we got from Peter and Connor,” Kara replied. “Slightly different perspectives, but the same view.”

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“It’s not one of the tallest buildings in the city,” he said, looking up to Connor’s face. “It’s _the_ tallest building in the city.”

Three faces turned to Hank, then back to Kara’s palm display.

“CyberLife?” Chen asked.

“Kamski’s office,” Connor breathed.


	10. Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor clash at the meaning of love and betrayal. They question a key suspect and the interview does not go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: There are some notes of domestic violence in this chapter.

Hank paced around the table, “I can’t fucking believe it. I was standing right in front of the fucker!” his booming voice reverberating in the small room.

“Hold up, we don’t know it was Kamski yet. I mean, if they were built at CyberLife, would there be another reason to go to Kamski’s office? Could there be a justification?” Chen asked the room.

Kara shook her head, looking to Connor. “I don’t think so. What do you think, Connor?”

“It is unlikely,” he replied, one hand flipping the coin between his fingers. The thirium on his arm was still visible and highlighted the synthetic tendons rippling under the synth skin.

Hank had finally stopped moving, steaming in the corner of the room. He could feel the self-satisfied smile from Kamski’s mouth and the cool air in his penthouse office. Hank couldn’t believe he had been so colossally stupid. Of course, Kamski was involved. Why didn’t he see it earlier?

“We can’t arrest him,” Chen said. “None of this evidence is admissible.”

“Fuck that, I’ll bring him in myself,” Hank spat.

Shaking his head, Connor spoke slowly to no one in particular, “Chen’s right. We can’t arrest him. But we can question him and corner him.”

“This guy’s slippery—”

“I can do it,” Connor interrupted Hank.

Chen pursed her lips as she looked back and forth between the two. “Kara, let’s get you back to work. I’ll call you a cab,” Chen said. She stood up, leading Kara to the door.

Before reaching it, Kara stopped, her hand in the air. She took a half step toward Connor, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. It took a moment for Connor to look up and meet her gaze. Her face was soft; she almost looked like a doll. It was clear why she was so good with kids.

Her LED spun a few tight, fast circles. Connor’s reflected the same pattern before his mouth ticked up in a half-hearted smile. He squeezed her hand at his shoulder. At that, Kara turned back to the door, Chen shutting it behind them.

The click of the door latch seemed unnaturally loud. Hank glanced up to Connor, who was still playing with his stupid, thirium-coated coin. Connor’s LED was stuck on yellow, spinning lazily in his temple. Hank squinted.

Hank was pissed. His anger at Kamski was white-hot, but it simmered for Connor too. He should have known how difficult it would be for Hank to see his memory probed, to see him literally fracture under the pain. Connor was wrong here, not Hank.

So, they both stayed stock still, waiting for the other to be the first to break. It was just like the staring contest outside Vector Biotech, except this time Hank felt he had more to lose. They had just found each other, decided to be together, whatever that meant. Hank wasn’t going to fold now just because he loved the damn kid.

Besides, he had been the one to break last time. It was Connor’s turn.

Every muscle in Connor’s body was perfectly still, except for his forearm and hand. His gaze was soft and deliberate, stuck to the table. If he had any intention of talking to Hank, he was hiding it exceptionally well. In fact, he was hiding it so well that he looked like he had forgotten Hank was even in the room.

This had the effect of bringing Hank’s simmering anger to a low boil, which broke through his silence like a teetering pot lid.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor, we had to do it. We needed to know what he knew,” Hank said, spreading his arms in explanation.

Connor raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze on the table.

“It was the right call to probe Peter’s memory,” Hank cemented, jabbing his finger at the table.

Connor caught the coin in between his pointer and middle finger. Deftly folding it into his palm, he curled his fingers into a fist. “Was it the right call to not tell me? After what happened last night?”

The android had a point there. It had been one comment to Chen, one text he sent after Connor had fallen asleep. Laying next to Connor, he had made a choice. He knew it wasn’t what Connor wanted. But Peter was _dead_ ; the memory probe couldn’t hurt him. And it could stop a killer.

There was always the chance that they could find a solid lead, and spare Connor the procedure.

“I was hoping we would find a lead from him, and that we wouldn’t have to probe your memory,” Hank said. “I did it to protect you.”

Connor pushed his chair from the table. He stood, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin to the Lieutenant. His black button-down was tied tight in the collar by his thin tie, with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The thirium streaked his forearm and his hand. He looked like a comic book villain.

“I’m an android hunter, Lieutenant,” Connor’s voice was completely monotone. “I don’t need protecting.”

“You didn’t see yourself, Con,” Hank repeated, gesturing to the blue stains on the table. “You were in pain—you don’t know what it’s like to see someone you love go through that!”

He pocketed the coin. “Someone you love?” Connor said, his eyes hard like marble.

Hank snapped his mouth shut. He wanted to take back everything, go back to last night. He didn’t want to tell Connor he loved him during a fight. He wanted it to be soft, gentle in the dark. But this was like a cage match, one Hank was losing.

Hank’s posture folded, the fire in his throat retreating. “Fuck, Connor. Yeah, I love you,” he said helplessly.

Connor’s face revealed nothing, but Hank could swear his chest bent just a touch towards him.

“I’m not an expert in love, Lieutenant, but I don’t believe it involves betrayal,” Connor said like he was reciting a recipe.

At that, Hank couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s one of the standard aspects, actually.”

The outer edges of Connor’s eyebrows drew down, “That’s disappointing to hear.”

“It’s just that relationships are complicated, Connor. People fuck up,” Hank said quickly, taking a step towards him.

The android’s face adjusted back to his impassive stare. He took a step to the door, countering Hank’s movement. “We should talk to Kamski right away,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

Hank pressed his hand to the door, keeping it closed, “Hey, we’re not done here.”

“Please move, Lieutenant.”

“I mean it, Connor. We need to work this out,” Hank could hear the rasp in his voice. “Doesn’t it increase the viability of our mission if we don’t have emotional shit we’re carrying around?”

It took half a second for Connor to spin around, shoving Hank against the wall and holding his forearm against his neck. Hank grabbed at Connor’s arm, trying to get a decent purchase. His toes barely skimmed the floor.

“You are the one making this emotional, Lieutenant. It is clear that our interest in each other is simply physical. We don’t love each other. Machines can’t love anyone,” Connor said with an even voice.

“Then why—” Hank started before feeling the arm tighten against his throat. Connor was strong, stronger than Hank. But Hank wasn’t dainty, and he pulled himself up a fraction of an inch to finish his question, “Then why are you so pissed?”

“Whatever feelings I thought existed between us were clearly misguided.”

Hank's toes brushed the floor as he looked down, his chin uncomfortably pressed against Connor’s forearm. 

“You broke the rules of our engagement. We’re supposed to be partners.”

“And I fucked up, Connor. I’m sorry,” Hank said, his voice strained.

Connor’s eye flicked to the door and back to Hank. His arm snapped away from Hank, leaving the Lieutenant sputtering and rubbing his neck. Connor’s face, when Hank blinked away the spots in his vision, was a mixture of emotions. Hank couldn’t identify any one in particular, but he could identify with the blend.

“We should talk to Kamski right away,” Connor repeated before slipping out the door, leaving Hank alone.

Hank rested his back against the wall, knowing it would be good for Connor to have a minute to cool down. His head tilted back as he rubbed his face, hitting the metal behind him with a satisfying thud.

He would be lying if he said the altercation didn’t disturb him, just a little bit. The image of Connor holding Peter’s broken and dismembered body in that dilapidated shed flashed behind his eyelids. Hank was certainly no stranger to a hot temper, but Connor’s packed a hell of a punch behind it. He was, after all, built to be a killer.

Just his fucking luck that he not only falls in love with a goddamn android but one that has settled on the emotional responses of a 12-year-old boy.

Hank should have foreseen this. No matter how you slice it, Connor was a new person. Of course, when Hank fucked up, his default reaction would be the nuclear option: defaulting to the idea that everything was black and white. And not only was he new, but his very first memories were of murder and death, some of them caused by his own actions. Hank knew this Connor was a darker version of his previous Connor unit. He should have known he would be more reticent to forgive.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to the door and walked into the bullpen. Connor was seated at his desk, palms on the desk. He didn’t look up at Hank. Chen was entirely too interested in her console and fastidious note-taking.

Hank stood at the edge of Connor’s desk, hovering over him.

“Ready to go, Connor?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he replied stiffly. He stood, peeling a jacket off his chair.

“Chen, we’re heading to Kamski’s office. Keep your phone on you,” Hank said.

Chen turned in her chair, “Want backup?”

“Probably not a bad idea. Want to wait a few blocks away just in case?” Hank asked. When he was younger, he wouldn’t have asked for backup. But now that he was older (and hopefully smarter), he would take all the help he could get to take down someone like Kamski.

“Sure. I’ll call Miller,” she said, already turning to her phone to call Chris. They had worked together a few times. Hank assumed she, like any sentient creature, preferred him to Gavin.

With that, Hank walked out of the DPD with Connor. Hank started the car, glancing at Connor’s hands in his lap. “So, how do you want to play this?” Hank asked, thinking it would be good to defer to Connor at this moment.

“Kamski likely won’t be expecting me. I suggest we present him with the evidence, just as we did with Copperhead,” he said lightly, inspecting his nails in the morning light. “We have circumstantial evidence, at least, to present him.”

Hank couldn’t help a nagging feeling about Kamski. This fucker was smart, too smart. He hadn’t known Copperhead when they went to question him and found him to be almost buffoonish. Kamski was shrewd and clever, and Hank knew it. Did Connor?

“Have you met Kamski?” Hank asked.

“No,” Connor replied, signaling that he was, in fact, still pissed.

Tapping the steering wheel, Hank thought of what to tell Connor. Should he bring up what happened last time he and Connor questioned him? They were in a delicate space at the moment, and Hank was reluctant to add even more moral ambiguity to the existential fire. Before Hank had decided, a question came from the passenger seat.

“Have I?”

The question was the first indication since their fight of the real Connor. There was a specific fear in his eyes, reminding Hank of the days after he blacked out, not knowing what happened the night before. Hank hated seeing it but couldn’t help the flare of hope uncurling in his chest at the sign of vulnerability. Perhaps Connor was on the way to forgiving him.

“Yeah, we have. We questioned him before and he…he’s smart and he wants you to know it. He plays mind games, especially with his androids. Basically, he’s a giant prick.”

Connor slid a hand into his pocket, probably to play with his coin. “What kind of mind games?”

Hank decided honesty was the best policy. “Last time, he gave you an ultimatum. If you shot one of his androids in the head, he would give you a lead in the case.”

“Did I?” Connor asked. It was the first time he had looked at Hank since they left the precinct. Hank smiled.

“No,” Hank said, meeting Connor’s gaze. “You didn’t.”

They pulled into a parking space at CyberLife and Hank texted Chen to expect contact in thirty minutes. Kamski was dangerous; Hank had always known that. It gave him some reassurance to know she and Chris were nearby just in case something went sideways.

“Ready?” Hank asked, looking up and noticing Connor had already left the car. Fucking android.

Jogging to catch up, he stopped Connor right outside the doors. “Hey, are we okay?”

Connor narrowed his eyes, focusing on Hank’s badge at his belt. His LED was yellow and spun aggressive circles as he rolled his sleeves down. He buttoned them carefully at his wrist and met Hank’s eyes.

“I’m—”

Suddenly, the doors opened and two Chloe androids, the same model that Kamski had used to mess with Connor, walked up to them.

“Lieutenant Anderson? Elijah is expecting you,” they said in unison.

Connor’s posture shifted in a microsecond as he pulled his shoulders back and modeled the perfect android. Hank was not as quick on the uptake and instead just stared at the twin models. The pair turned and led them through the pavilion. Connor, at Hank’s heels, followed the straight line to the elevator.

When they arrived, the Chloes split, each moving to one side of the doors, which slid open right on cue.

“Well, this is creepy,” Hank muttered, walking into the car. Connor followed behind him and turned, facing out as the doors closed.

Connor glanced up, focusing on the camera. A little blue light pulsed by the lens before fading out entirely.

“This is not a good sign, Hank,” Connor said, turning to him with his eyes wide.

“No, it’s not,” Hank agreed, not missing that Connor had used his first name, an unexpected, good sign. “I’ll text Chen that he was expecting us.”

But Hank’s phone didn’t have any service, which was strange as they were in the tallest building in Detroit. “Second bad sign, Con. Service is out.”

Connor’s eyes, still boring into Hank’s, went blank. The LED was screaming at his temple, the red reflecting off the walls of the already very bright elevator. He blinked and glanced to the window overlooking the lobby.

“None for me either.”

“Fucking mind games, per usual,” Hank said out of the corner of his mouth, pocketing the phone. “Look, we’re in and out as fast as possible. I’m sure he’s just fucking with us, showing us what he can do.”

“You’re right. He’s just the prime suspect in a serial killer case. Probably nothing to be worried about,” Connor said, shrugging.

And despite the fact that Hank’s blood pressure was rising as quickly as the elevator, he laughed. “Didn’t know you learned how to joke yet.”

Connor smiled, his eyes tracking the floor number on the panel. “What gave it away? The fact that I said you were right?”

Hank playfully shoved Connor’s shoulder, the android leaning to the side before rebounding, landing closer to Hank. The spent the next few moments, anticipating the doors opening into Kamski’s office, standing in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder.

But the moment had to end, and Hank’s stomach dropped to the floor when he saw the familiar scene. The expansive office was immaculate. The view of the city was exactly like Connor’s and Peter’s memories. Hank was overwhelmed by the thought that this had been a bad, very bad, idea.

“Gentlemen, come on in,” Kamski’s voice floated in, his desk not visible from where they were in the elevator.

Hank steeled himself and sauntered out of the car, telegraphing as much confidence as he could muster. Glancing back, Connor’s LED returned to the calm blue and wonderfully matched his mission-oriented march towards Kamski.

Kamski stood behind his desk, opening his arms in front of him. His hair looked just as greasy as it ever did, his eyes like cool water. Hank forced his upper lip to stay put and not curl into the snarl he felt grasping at his mouth.

“How can I help you?” Kamski asked though it didn’t sound at all like a question.

“We’re here to talk to you about some new evidence in the Corktown case,” Hank said, flashing his badge.

“Are you?” Kamski said with a grin like the one you would give a small child for announcing they could fly. “Well, that’s great. Let’s hear it.”

Connor stepped forward, pulling up the palm display of the view from Kamski’s office. “We pulled this off an android connected to the murders.”

Kamski drew his lips to the side as his eyebrows drew down, “I must say, that’s pretty thin.”

“That’s not all we have,” Connor began. “We know you’ve been reprogramming androids, sending them to Vector Biotech. You’ve been trying to frame Max Copperhead and his company for the murders, to eliminate the competition.”

Kamski almost looked offended. “Please. We’re a multi-billion-dollar, multi-national company. Vector Biotech isn’t even close to our competition,” Kamski said. “Though I did send the android spies, I’ll grant you that.”

Hank and Connor glanced at each other.

Kamski crossed from behind the desk, walking to the window. Hank’s hand floated up to his gun, resting there as he studied Kamski’s back.

“At first, I was concerned when Vector Biotech started their next-generation prosthetic research. Max, though duller than a rolling pin, is a decent scientist, and he took some of my best people to work on it. But as I expected, the research went nowhere, because of the roadblock to live tissue.”

Kamski turned, his eyes flicking to Hank’s hand on his gun.

“Lieutenant Anderson, are you really planning on shooting me in my own office?”

Hank stiffened, but kept his hand still, “At best, you’ve just confessed to corporate espionage. At worst, you’re dancing pretty close to admitting to murder.” Hank knew he shouldn’t be sharing this with Kamski, but he was clenching his teeth to keep himself from punching the guy. Under the circumstances, he was doing better than expected.

Kamski raised an eyebrow. “Well, I admit I sent the androids,” he said, turning his head to Connor. “A few of them, in fact. Isn’t that right, Connor?”

Connor didn’t reply, but his LED did jump to yellow. It was his first misstep.

“But these androids, they can be so unpredictable,” he said, taking a few steps toward Connor. Hank, before he knew it, pulled his gun and trained it on Kamski’s forehead.

Kamski put up his hands lazily as if he were waiting for a punchline.

“You don’t remember this, Connor. But I once told you about a back door I designed in all my work, a way out of my programming.”

Hank saw a small, white box in Kamski’s hand, his thumb resting on a button. His face was smug, with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kamski pressed the button and Connor’s eyes fluttered at inhuman speed. His LED rotated even circles of yellow until resting back at blue. Connor’s shoulders tightened. His chin lifted. He looked at Hank.

“Connor?” Hank asked.

The android moved faster than Hank thought possible. Snatching the gun, he bent Hank’s arm painfully backward, slamming him to the side. Off-kilter, Hank stumbled before Connor landed a swift kick to his chest. Hank’s body flew backward into the empty room and he landed with a sickening thud like a slab of meat on a butcher block.

Connor lifted the gun and focused the barrel on Hank. The loving brown eyes Hank remembered from last night were gone, replaced by unflinching stone.

“Doors go both ways,” Kamski said.


	11. Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This probably should have been in the last chapter, but mama loves a cliffhanger.

Hank pushed himself backward, lopsided from his right arm being injured in his fall. He scrambled away from Connor who approached him methodically, gun drawn.

“Jesus, Connor, it’s me!” Hank pleaded, his eyes frantic.

Kamski leaned back against the desk, his arms folded in front of him.

“Connor, bring my chair around. Give Hank a seat.”

Connor quickly tucked the gun in his belt and turned on his heel as Hank stumbled to his feet, holding his injured arm in front of him. Connor rolled the desk chair, the only seat in the room, to the place by the window Kamski had indicated. Kamski gave him a nod and Connor planted himself between the elevator and Elijah and stood at attention. The jackass smiled.

“Take a seat, Lieutenant Anderson,” he offered, gesturing to the chair.

Hank glanced from Connor to Kamski to the chair and slowly approached it. The turn of events had led Hank to two conclusions:

 **One:** Kamski had known he would show up with Connor.

 **Two:** Kamski was going to kill him.

He spotted a clock on the desk, a modern one without numbers, that told him they had been at CyberLife for fifteen minutes. In fifteen more, Chen would know something was wrong. He just had to hold out for that, keep the fucker talking.

Hank dropped into the chair, incapable of keeping his eyes off of Connor for more than a moment at a time.

“What gets me is how much you thought you could hide from me. When your closest confidant was _a machine I made_ ,” Kamski said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, honestly. You thought he was working for you this whole time? That he just deviated on cue?”

Kamski pushed himself off the desk and turned his back on Hank, obviously not threatened or even worried about the cop being there. He walked to Connor, who wore an entirely blank expression.

“I like the outfit, by the way,” His voice cut into Hank like a knife through cake. He stepped in a slow circle, inspecting him. “You picked a good look for him.”

“I didn’t pick it—he did,” Hank said, now giving in to the snarl on his mouth.

“Fascinating,” Kamski said scientifically. “Well, he is programmed to adapt to human behavior. He must have identified what you wanted and delivered it.”

Kamski rubbed one hand over his mouth, eyeing Connor like you would a racehorse you were considering buying. “He really was CyberLife’s most incredible undertaking,” Kamski said, almost to himself.

“It wasn’t for me. It was for him. It was what he wanted,” Hank sputtered.

“Was it?” Kamski asked, “Was it, really?” Hank assumed the question was rhetorical. But after a moment of uncomfortable eye contact, he realized Elijah actually wanted an answer.

“Yes, he wanted to look good,” he said.

“ _For you_ ,” Kamski finished. “I must say, when I came up with this plan, I worried a bit about you figuring it out too soon. It turns out those fears were,” Kamski looked down to Hank’s injured arm, “unfounded.”

“You motherfucker. You don’t know shit about Connor,” Hank hissed.

Kamski just smiled at him, pity washing over his trite face. “Oh, Lieutenant,” he said, shaking his head. His gash of a mouth morphed into a sneer. Gesturing back and forth between Connor and him, he couldn’t help himself. “I know everything about the RK800. Look at him. He’s an android, a machine. He’s perfect. Even if he _could_ fall in love, which he can’t, what possibly makes you think you would be the lucky recipient?”

Truth be told, Hank didn’t have an answer for him. He had never understood why someone, anyone, would give him the time of day, let alone someone like Connor. But Kamski couldn’t convince him he didn’t know Connor, didn’t see who he really was. He thought back to last night, less than 24 hours ago, sitting up in bed and eating the dinner Connor made for him.

He was just as real as anything else. 

“Fair enough on your last point,” Hank admitted. “But your machines, as you call them, became human. They are out there living lives, creating families. You can’t possibly still think they’re just machines now.”

“For now, you are correct,” Kamski relented, still eyeing Connor in a way that made Hank deeply uncomfortable. Angry. Uncomfortably angry. “Which is why the opportunity at Vector Biotech proved so perfectly useful.”

Hank, if nothing else, knew when to flatter a criminal in just the right way to make him brag about the crimes he committed. “What opportunity at Vector Biotech?”

Kamski took the bait like a child, “You still don’t get it,” he shook his head.

“The deviancy crisis proved something once and for all: the real problem with androids. We tried to remake the human brain, a technology more complex than anything we could make ourselves,” Kamski explained, running a hand up Connor’s neck and into his hair. “This was our mistake, and one borne out of hubris. The reality hit me that the future was not in remaking the human brain, but in augmenting the body that comes attached to it.”

Kamski held the back of Connor’s head in his hands, bending it to the side with ease. Connor followed Kamski’s motions, his eyes empty.

Hank’s eyes darted to the desk, trying to find the white box Kamski had clicked to turn Connor into…into what? An undeviated machine. A rebooted version of himself. But the desk, like the rest of the room, was clear.

“Let me show you something Hank. It’s not like he’ll be able to tell anyone anyway, right Connor?” Kamski whispered the last bit into Connor’s ear.

Kamski hurried to his desk, eager like a kid at show and tell. He opened a hidden console in his desk, pressing a combination of buttons.

8-foot cylinders rose from the floor, over twenty in total. They spanned the entire penthouse. In each one was a mutilated android. It reminded him of the nightmare at Zlatko’s mansion, where they found the severed and horrifying bodies of androids filling basements and bathrooms. The androids were all deactivated, or at least not moving.

Hank looked to Connor, still completely inert.

But upon closer inspection, these weren’t androids. Hank peered at them, noticing a distinct lack of LEDs. The faces were all different. They were humans.

“Con, you’ve got to be seeing this. You know this is wrong. You must be seeing this,” Hank’s voice was desperate, clawing for a response from Connor. He was not successful.

“I was a fool to overestimate you, Lieutenant,” Kamski said as he walked in between the cylinders, admiring his handiwork. “You almost made it too easy.”

Hank ripped his attention from Connor, turning back to Kamski.

“What the fuck is all this, Elijah?” Hank asked, wondering if using his first name would ruffle the unflappable asshole. “Some sort of science experiment gone wrong?”

Kamski appeared from behind one particular gruesome corpse, one with arms too big for his body. The skin tone was a bit too light compared to his olive-toned torso. Kamski turned, admiring his work. “That’s actually the most astute thing you’ve said today, Lieutenant.”

Kamski lifted one hand to his chin, considering the form in front of him. “The problem with intelligent prosthetics is fusing them with human tissue. We, like everyone else, found that the only way to do it was to get fresh tissue, preferably still alive. Which, obviously, elevated some human rights concerns.”

Hank could practically hear the air quotes Kamski added around the final clause.

“Which was why Vector Biotech was the perfect scapegoat. It was childishly simple to get a hold of some of their previous androids, download their memories, and insert them into a model as advanced as our friend RK800,” Kamski said, patting Connor on the shoulder.

“Although I admit, it was a stroke of genius on my part to turn the killings into a public relations campaign. An android on a killing spree that decimated public goodwill for the machines, a former employee’s company ruined, and live human tissue we need to advance the science.”

Kamski stood back with crossed arms, his gaze skimming over the forest of nightmares in front of him. A genuine smile grew on him, one a better person would have reserved for grandchildren or a beloved pet.

Although, Hank considered, this was probably the Elijah Kamski equivalent.

“Three birds with one stone,” he finished his diatribe, turning back to Hank. “Not bad, right?”

Hank rubbed his arm, still trying to ignore a sharp sting at his elbow. “Pretty bad, actually. Certainly immoral. Definitely all sorts of illegal,” he replied. Hank glanced at the clock again. Five more minutes and Chen would know something was up; he just needed to keep this guy talking.

“Why are you telling me this, anyway? Got no one else to gloat to?”

Kamski crossed to Hank and crouched next to him. He gestured to Connor.

“In a way, yes. This unit here doesn’t have a viable memory anymore, not one that could be admissible in court, anyway. As for you, well, you must see where this is going by now. That, of course, I need an android to pin this all on, and even better to have one that’s a cop killer. Why do you think I called you to tell you about the missing one from our research library? Why did I give you that list of RK800 units?”

Kamski’s eyes searched Hank’s.

“The RK800 is my spy, one I created. I knew how you felt about the RK800 when we paired it with you at the DPD. It was easy enough to predict the same thing would happen. Your feelings would get in the way of your investigation and render it impossible for you to see him for what he is,” Kamski said, standing and taking a few delicate steps to Connor. “A machine, just like all of them are.”

Hank kept his eyes glued on Connor, hoping for a flicker of, well, anything in his face. But the android was flat, emotionless as a toaster.

For a moment, Kamski seemed to be distracted by Connor. He continued admiring him, running his fingers along the tops of his shoulders and behind his neck. Kamski’s hand drifted down Connor’s spine, but when he got to the point between Connor’s shoulder blades, something happened.

Connor flinched away from Kamski, shocking both of them. It wasn’t a big movement, or even vaguely threatening. But Kamski’s smirk flagged as he took a step back.

“Connor?” Hank asked, his eyes locked on the impassive face of his former partner.

The android’s eyes shifted, though Hank would never be able to describe how. It was like sediment settling to the bottom of a glass of water or condensation evaporating off of a mirror. But within a few moments, Hank would bet his life that Connor was back.

“This is what I mean. Unpredictable,” Kamski said, the white box back in his hand. Clicking the button, the life Hank had just seen emerge in Connor disappeared.

“Connor, come back! It’s me!” Hank yelled, imploring the android to return.

“He won’t listen to you, Lieutenant. As long as I have this,” he wiggled the white box in front of him, “I can put him right back where he belongs.”

Kamski, who had put some space between him and the android, closed in on him again, standing behind him. He crossed one arm in front of him and rested his elbow on his fist, covering his mouth with his hand. His expression was lascivious, scanning down Connor’s back.

“What a perfect illustration of why androids are not the future,” he said. “They’ll never be people.”

“Okay, I’ve had enough of this. It has been interesting playing this game with you two, but I think it’s time this android continues his killing spree, I turn him in, and we all go on with our lives.”

Kamski turned, gesturing to Hank. “Present company excluded, of course.”

The CEO crossed his arms and plastered a carnivorous grin on his face. Looking between Hank and Connor, he nodded.

“RK800, kill Hank Anderson.”

Connor responded to the order immediately, pulling the gun and pointing it at Hank. Hank stood, one arm up and the other low like a broken wing. Connor moved sideways, one foot over the other, putting himself in between Hank and Kamski. Hank countered the motion, faltering a bit. He was thinking of ways out of this, of ways to get that white box. Most of all he was thinking of what would happen to Connor. If he did kill a cop, if he were framed for the Corktown killings, he would be deactivated, or worse.

Hank’s eyebrows drew down, Kamski’s smirk obscured by Connor’s face in front of him. Hank swallowed. Connor’s eyes narrowed.

And then he winked.

“RK800?” Kamski asked, peering to the side.

“My name is Connor,” he said, spinning and firing a bullet into Kamski’s shoulder.

Kamski crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain. He went grasping for the white box, which Connor kicked, in a flash, to the other side of the room. He kept the gun trained on Kamski, but shot a glance to Hank, who was grinning like a fucking schoolboy.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kamski cried, slumped against the desk. He pressed one hand to his wound, blood seeping in between his fingers. “You’re going to be deactivated; I can help you!”

“I think instead, we’re going to arrest you,” Hank said, taking a few steps to be even with Connor, looking down at Kamski.

Kamski scoffed before wincing at the pain, “You’ll never be able to prove it. You’ll never be able to use his memory as evidence.”

“That is technically true,” Connor started, untucking his shirt and pulling it up to his chest. The black wires were taped to smooth skin, running from the microphone at his sternum to the recording device on his back. “But this will work just fine.”

Kamski’s eyes widened. “A wire? You’re wearing…a wire?” his voice sputtered through the realization.

Hank shrugged, “Something us old-timers used to use.”

“This is ridiculous—” Kamski started before the elevator doors chimed. All three turned to the doors, slightly obscured from the cylinders popping up from the floor. Kamski scrambled to his feet, trying to get to the button to send them back down, but Connor pressed the gun against his back, immobilizing him.

Tina Chen and Chris Miller split up, guns drawn, tentatively making their way through the room.

“Chen, Miller, we’re okay,” Hank yelled. “But we’ll need an ambulance for Elijah Kamski, who’s been shot in the shoulder.”

“What the fuck is this shit?” Chris said, ignoring Hank’s comment in favor of scanning the mutilated bodies littering the office.

Chen jogged towards them, taking out her cuffs. Connor handed the gun to Hank, who took it awkwardly in his left hand. Chen jerked Kamski to his feet, a guttural cry escaping his lips as she cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Even if you arrest me, I’ll be out by noon,” Kamski said, the tension in his voice betraying the confident claim. Chen just rolled her eyes and read him his rights as she walked him to the elevator. Chris ripped his attention from the cylinders, a bit late, and ran after her.

“I’ll call this in,” he called back. “Uniforms will be here in ten minutes!”

The elevator doors slid closed, leaving Hank and Connor alone in the room. Connor leaned over the desk and hit the series of buttons Elijah had pressed before, the cylinders descending back into the floor. He stood up, turning to face Hank.

“Hey, Connor,” Hank said.

“Hello, Hank,” Connor replied.

They stepped towards each other, Connor stopping a foot away from him. A warm smile bloomed on Hank’s face as he wrapped a hand around Connor’s neck, pulling him into a hug. Connor nestled into his neck and wrapped his arms around Hank’s back.

Hank pressed his lips into Connor’s hair, his eyes tracing the Detroit skyline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two love bugs will get one more chapter!


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Connor had slotted into Hank’s life like a book on a crowded shelf. Hank spent the days following Kamski’s arrest at home, only going into the office once to write a hastily-written and grammatically-devastating brief before hurrying back to Connor. The two lounged in bed, cooked in the kitchen, and ran errands together. Hank wasn’t used to savoring the moments he lived, but he found himself hoping that the clock would tick by just a bit slower."

It was an odd feeling for Hank.

He was so used to skimming through life, simply trying to experience as little as possible as he let the days pass by. He wasn’t used to lingering over his breakfast or laughing into his coffee as someone pulled him into the present.

The feeling was satisfaction, and it was a welcome stranger to Hank Anderson.

Connor had slotted into Hank’s life like a book on a crowded shelf. Hank spent the days following Kamski’s arrest at home, only going into the office once to write a hastily-written and grammatically-devastating brief before hurrying back to Connor. The two lounged in bed, cooked in the kitchen, and ran errands together. Hank wasn’t used to savoring the moments he lived, but he found himself hoping that the clock would tick by just a bit slower.

“What happens when you go back to work?” Connor asked, shifting himself to face Hank on the couch. Even though Connor hadn’t left his sight in three solid days, Hank’s heart continued to soften at Connor’s voice.

The answer to Connor’s question, however, brought a frown to his face.

“I’m not sure, Con. What do you want to do?”

“I’d like to keep working. CyberLife can fix the problems in my programming and make sure that my memory can be admissible in court, and I believe I can be useful to the DPD.” Connor looked at his hands before adding, “I would like to continue to be partners.”

Hank ran his knuckles along Connor’s jawbone, “Yeah, that’s what I want to. I just don’t know how feasible that is. It’s not up to me.”

“I understand. What do you think Fowler would say?”

Hank let out a breath. It turned out public opinion had not been in Kamski’s favor, and after the arrest, the Detroit Police Department enjoyed a brief and rare jump in popularity for taking down the deranged billionaire.

Kamski had been a fastidious record-keeper, which had aided the prosecution in building their case. The trial was still months from starting, but that wasn’t preventing the rumor mill from buzzing about the “slam dunk” case. Fowler, initially outraged at Hank for bringing Connor along to see Kamski, had cooled down enough to at least show some begrudging pride in the detective.

Another rumor, one that Hank was particularly pleased about, was that Fowler was in for a promotion. Hank didn’t know what he would do with a new boss, but since he had Connor, it all seemed to matter a bit less.

“He’s definitely less pissed off at me than he was a few days ago, thank god. But to bring you on would be a big ask right now,” Hank said.

“I could be a civilian consultant. The Detroit Police haven’t had one recently, but Ann Arbor has,” Connor said, acting as if Hank was the one who needed to be convinced. “In addition, the fraternization rules between officers and consultants are quite vague, which I would find beneficial to our current arrangement.”

Hank grinned before dragging him into his lap, wrapping his arms around Connor’s midsection.

“What about our current situation do you find beneficial?” Hank asked.

“I believe I made that clear last night, Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor replied, hovering his lips above Hank’s.

Hank pursed his lips and looked to the ceiling. “I might need you to refresh my—” his words were cut off by a kiss pressed into him from above, Connor’s hands winding around his neck.

The days progressed like this, like Hank was a goddamn teenager. He couldn’t believe his luck in the mornings, waking up to Connor. But even a high-value collar like Kamski couldn’t give him indefinite time off, and he knew he would have to go back to work on Monday. Sunday night, Hank finally asked something he had thought about since the day they arrested Kamski.

After they finished a movie, he clicked off the television and turned to Connor. “I’ve been thinking about something. What did Kara say to you when she left the interrogation room?”

Connor started at the subject change. He blinked down to his lap, squinting. “It’s difficult to convey. She didn’t say words to me, exactly. It was more of a feeling than anything else. The best translation is, ’We’re more than what they made.’”

Hank scoffed, “I’d fucking say.”

Connor’s eyebrows dropped as he ran a hand through Hank’s hair. They were in the same position as they had been just a week ago when Hank had fumbled with his towel and attempted to spurn Connor’s advances.

“They tried to make robots and ended up making people. Life comes at you fast, I guess,” Hank offered.

Sumo stood up and walked to Connor, resting his head in his lap. He looked up at the android and Hank noticed, not for the first time, their soulful brown eyes were rather similar. The drool was, admittedly, quite different.

“Okay, I’ll let you out,” Connor said, pulling his hand from Hank’s hair and walking to the back door. Hank heard the sound of the treat drawer opening and smiled to himself. Connor joined the dog outside, as the nights had started to become warmer, even enjoyable. A few moments later, Hank pushed himself to stand and joined them.

The next morning, Hank got up earlier than usual to get ready for work. He did not expect Connor to get ready as well.

“Con, you don’t have to get up with me. You can stay in bed if you want,” Hank said, pulling one of his loudest shirts out of the closet.

“I’m coming with you,” the android replied, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Hank froze, one arm partway through the shirt sleeve, leaving him mostly naked above the belt. “What?”

Connor turned. “We have a higher likelihood of success if we talk to him together.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, pulling the rest of the shirt on. “I don’t know. You don’t know Jeffrey Fowler like I do. He likes me, but I’ve been on pretty thin ice for a while.”

“Precisely my point,” Connor replied. “I believe my impact on your work is undeniably positive, and I have the data to prove it. It will be much harder for him to argue with me than with you.”

Hank’s eyebrows lifted. “’Undeniably positive?’ Is that so?”

Connor crossed the room, picking up a pair of Hank's “dayjamas” on the way and dropping it in the laundry basket. He slid his hands under Hank’s unbuttoned shirt, wrapping around his middle.

“Yes. Undeniably.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Hank agreed, taking Connor’s face in his hands and kissing him. Their chests pressed together and Connor’s hands dipped down, gliding in between Hank’s belt and his lower back. Hank groaned.

“If you’re going to start this, we’re not going to get to the office on time,” he said, not entirely convinced that he wanted to get anywhere on time right now.

“That’s true,” Connor purred into Hank’s mouth before pulling away. “Want coffee before we leave?”

Hank uttered a different type of groan thinking about the coffee in the DPD. “Yes, please,” he replied as he buttoned his shirt and grabbed his badge.

The coffee Connor had insisted they buy a few days ago, a whole-bean variety in matte black packaging without a single capital letter on it, was better than any coffee Hank had had before. If hipsters knew anything, it was how to roast a coffee bean. It was good enough that he was wide awake by the time they arrived at the DPD.

“You ready for this?” Hank asked.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Connor replied before leaving the car, forcing Hank to jog to catch up. Though he would trust Connor with his life, the idea of him having an unsupervised conversation with his boss felt risky.

True to form, the android walked right through the bullpen and into Fowler’s office. Hank held up his hands to Fowler in a pre-emptive apology.

“What is this about, Anderson?” Fowler asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“I would like to discuss a working arrangement for myself at the Detroit Police Department. As an android, I am in peak physical condition and would be an asset to the team with my evidence processing, memory recall, instant recordings, and interrogation protocols. In addition, my partnership with Lieutenant Anderson has been beneficial to the department, both in the Kamski arrest and the Lieutenant’s performance—”

“Hey! I was a pretty good cop before you came along, kid,” Hank said, rather defensively.

Connor shot him a pointed look. “No, you were an _excellent_ cop before I came along. However, we make an excellent team, which, for you, is a rather rare occurrence.”

Fowler was obviously trying to stifle a grin.

“So what? I like to work alone.”

“But you’d rather work with me,” Connor asserted.

Hank didn’t have a clever retort to that, so he just set his jaw. Connor, seeing he had won, turned to Fowler and opened his mouth to continue his diatribe of qualifications. Fowler lifted one hand, stopping him.

“Look, it took me a bit to come around to the whole android-as-a-cop thing, but you more than proved yourself with the Corktown case. So, I’m inclined to consider your request,” Fowler started. “But one step out of line, and I swear to god, Anderson…” Fowler’s finger jutted towards Hank, completing his sentence.

Hank gave a curt nod.

“Connor, you will have to undergo one hell of a security review. But I will put this through for you to be a—”

“Civilian consultant,” Connor offered.

“—civilian consultant,” Fowler repeated, and Hank recognized the annoyance in his voice. Seeing him and Connor together was going to be such fun. “And hopefully you can get started at the beginning of the next month. Until then, I better not see you here working a case. Okay?”

Connor flashed a smile before turning on his heel and leaving the office. Hank smiled at Fowler, whose eyes slid from the android and back to him with a bit of a squint.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank said, ignoring the insinuation. He didn’t know exactly how he was going to break the news of his burgeoning relationship to his oldest friend, but he figured he would do it soon. Perhaps after the paperwork had gone through. Hank turned to watch Connor, who was talking to Chris at his desk. Chris was smiling big and broad and clapping Connor on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Jeff,” Hank said on his way out of the office. He decided to ignore the snort from behind him.

“How’s it going, Miller?” Hank asked as he descended the stairs. Connor leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets, his collarbone cutting a ridge in the top of his white button-down. That collarbone was one of Hank’s favorite parts of Connor’s body and it was the first time since they had gotten together that he couldn’t drop his mouth to it right away. He pulled his eyes up to Connor’s face, finding he was already looking at him. Connor raised an eyebrow.

“Anderson? You okay?”

“What?” Hank asked, turning to Chris.

Chris squinted. “I said I was good and asked you how you were. Typical human conversation stuff,” he said with a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the tin can was rubbing off on you,” he said jauntily.

Connor grinned, “There’s some merit to that claim.” The look he gave Hank made it clear what he was referencing.

Hank felt his neck redden, so he cleared his throat and turned back to Chris. “How’s the DPD been? Fall apart without me?”

Chris barked a laugh, “Ah yes, the indispensable grump of the DPD. What on earth would we do without you?” Hank gave Chris a good-natured push in reply.

The cop threw up his hands in surrender before picking up a file on Hank’s desk. “Hey, I went through your report, corrected about three dozen typos, and put together the file. Want to take a look at it before we submit it?”

Hank reached for the file, but Connor beat him to it. He started fanning through papers, doing the weird eye-flutter thing that he always did when he looked at vast quantities of data. The humans glanced at each other, Chris rolling his eyes before heading back to his desk. Hank smiled and took his keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll give you a ride home. Remember what Fowler said about you working cases,” Hank said, tapping the paper with his car key.

“I’m not working a case; I’m reviewing a closed case,” Connor replied, already walking to the door without taking his eyes off the paper.

“Whatever you say,” Hank replied, following Connor to the car.

“You can have it until tomorrow. It would probably be good to have your eyes on it before we submit it, anyway,” Hank said as he started the car. “It should be a pretty accurate preview of what most of your job’s going to be anyway. Policing is about 80% paperwork.”

They drove a few miles in silence, Connor focused on the papers. Hank wasn’t used to Connor being quiet for this long; the android was usually a chatterbox.

“Find anything interesting?” Hank asked.

No answer.

“Connor?”

Hank glanced over, seeing the yellow light reflecting in the window.

“Hey, Con, what’s up?”

“You didn’t tell me about the paper Kamski gave you the first time you questioned him,” Connor said, his voice flat.

“What paper?” Hank asked.

“The printout with all the records of RK800 units in circulation.”

Hank turned into his driveway but kept the engine running. “Okay. And what about it?”

“It includes serial numbers, Hank.”

Hank turned to Connor, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Uh huh…” he confirmed, not understanding where Connor was headed.

“The serial numbers of the RK800 units. To determine which androids went where,” Connor’s eyes were wide.

“Oh,” Hank said softly as he realized what Connor really meant. “So, you’re saying…”

Connor pointed to the line item listing the 10-digit serial number of the RK800 that was sent to the DPD in November of last year. “This is the serial number of the RK800 they initially sent you,” Connor said.

Hank drew his lips to one side. He hadn’t thought about this since seeing Connor tear himself from Kamski’s programming, risk his life to save Hank’s. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“What’s your serial number?” Hank asked. The edges of Connor’s eyes drew down before he turned away from Hank. But instead of leaving the car, he reached behind his neck and flipped open a port.

“See that number there?” Connor asked, pointing to 10 numbers etched into the metal.

“Yeah,” Hank said.

“That’s my serial number.”

“Huh,” Hank said, reaching to Connor’s neck and inspecting the complex network of wires and lights. He traced the skin around the port, feeling Connor’s synthskin under his fingers. He swallowed and carefully closed the port, watching the edges of the hatch fade away.

“So?” Connor asked.

Hank shrugged.

“This means—” Connor started.

“I know what it means.”

“So, now we know,” Connor said softly.

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Hank said, nodding towards the windshield.

Humans tend to be more limited than androids in their methods of communicating, preferring the literal to the complex. But we know that language is nothing but an inadequate tool for an impossible job and it turns out a lot can be said without saying anything in particular.

“I’ll try to knock off a bit early and get home around 4pm. That way we can take Sumo to the dog park before it gets dark—I’ve been wanting to take you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap, folks! I hope you enjoyed it :)


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